


Journey To The Attic

by astairekin



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: (ik stands for isekai kid), (since she basically gets isekai'd and she is a kid), Developing Friendships, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff and Crack, Found Family, Gen, Mostly Canon Compliant, No beta we die like lilith, Platonic Relationships, SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRETY OF OM SEASON ONE, Unreliable Narrator, basically a teen gets isekai'd into the devildom and makes friends with everyone :), everyone just needs therapy tbh, i know a lot of people don't like reading first pov but i thought it'd be a nice challenge, ik just never has any idea what's going on at any given time, quick warning as well - this is written in first person!, slow updates likely but relatively long chapters, technically not major character death, this can also be read as a reader insert as the main character doesn't have a proper name
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 34,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29616090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astairekin/pseuds/astairekin
Summary: Sometimes a family is seven dysfunctional demon brothers, two clueless angels, a sorcerer with dubious motives, a demon king and his butler, and a dumbass kid who didn't get hugged nearly enough as a small child.It's a family comprising purely of chaotic goods, chaotic evils, true neutrals, and Solomon, granted, but it's a family nonetheless. It'd be pretty wholesome if not for the absolute bullshit that had to happen for it to come together in the first place.
Relationships: Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Original Character(s), Barbatos (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Original Character(s), Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Original Character(s), Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Original Character(s), Diavolo (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Original Character(s), Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Original Character(s), Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Original Character(s), Luke (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Original Character(s), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Original Character(s), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Original Character(s), Simeon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Original Character(s), Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 28





	1. The Fresh Prince of Hell Laughs Like A Drunk Uncle

**Author's Note:**

> please excuse the awful summary i have no idea how to write them 
> 
> i feel like there are too many relationship tags and was considering limiting it to just the brothers but at the same time we're going to be spending time developing all of the friendships so i didn't want to omit them hhh i hope no one was deterred from reading because of the tags 
> 
> i will admit that i am a bit of a boomer when it comes to what is and isn't funny these days, but i'd like to think that i've picked up a bit. hopefully ik's humour feels realistic for a kid of her age!

In the grand scheme of things, I probably shouldn't be too surprised that something like this has happened. Karma and all that - considering the amount of times I've personally given God the middle finger for forcing me into this plane of existence, it follows that he'd dump something like this on me out of sheer pettiness. I know Christians are all about the whole forgiveness thing, but considering the amount of times God has thrown a tantrum because his humans aren't listening to him, I probably should have seen _something_ coming.

Even if I had predicted that God would just decide to screw me over one day, though, I never would have guessed that he'd decide to do it like this.

I'm in what looks like an enormous courtroom, surrounded by flickering candlelight. The cold of the ground beneath me seeps through my too-thin-to-do-anything school-issued tights, and I glance down to find that I'm sitting in the centre of what appears to be a pentagram of some sort.

"Oh," I say out loud, mildly confused. "That's new."

I don't have time to observe anything else; at that very moment, a shadow falls over me. I look up and meet a pair of mischief-filled golden eyes.

"Welcome to the Devildom!" The man greets me with all the bravado of someone who has never had to repeat himself in his entire life. His arms are open wide, as if offering a hug, but I'm not gullible enough to actually go for one.

I stare at him cluelessly for a long while, wondering vaguely if I've dissociated so hard that I've somehow ascended to the astral plane. I'm fully aware that my mind definitely has the delusional capability to create an entire character out of nothing, but if I'm honest, this is a little too impressive to be something plucked out of my tiny brain. All red clothes was definitely a choice and a half, though, especially when coupled with how much of a red undertone his hair has. And why's his coat so _long?_ Is he Cinderella? Because he certainly looks like he's going to a ball in that thing.

After what feels like a full minute of an unbearable awkward silence as I stare in pure bewilderment, I finally realise that he seems to be waiting for a response.

"Uh," I say aloud, noting absently that I'm still sitting on the floor and wondering if I should get up, "What?"

He gives a hearty guffaw, setting his hands on his hips and looking down at me with a boisterous grin. "Oh, do pardon me! You must be feeling rather confused right now, am I right?"

His voice booms around the room, then fades, replaced by a long and slightly uncomfortable silence. I blink rapidly at him, his previous words echoing around my head. _Devildom? What? Is that some kind of code? Have I just been indoctrinated into a cult?_

Finally, I come to a conclusion. And, before you start calling me a dumbass for it, I'd like to remind you that I am only mildly intelligent on the best of days, and that the situation I'm in really defies any human logic, so _sure_ , it's a stupid conclusion, but at least it's a conclusion, right?

"Am I dead?"

Red Man laughs again, and while I'd normally be mortified if someone had laughed at me twice in a row, somehow, I get the feeling that it doesn't take much to tickle his funny bone. "Haha, of course not! Dead human souls don't come to the Devildom - they wouldn't make it through the barrier, for a start! No, no, young miss, you're very much alive."

I nod as if I understand what he's just said - an action that I've familiarised myself with over the years - and say, "Right, right, of course... what and where exactly is this Devildom?"

"Hmmm..." He folds his arms and raises his eyes to the ceiling, looking as if he's thinking hard, then answers, "I suppose the best way to put it would be that it's kind of a separate realm located directly below the human plane. They're in the same general dimension, but they exist in two separate streams of reality."

 _Ooh, that sounds very Doctor Who. Wait, what?_ "Separate realm? How have I managed to get down here, then?"

"Oh, teleportation spells between dimensions are easy enough to master after the first century or so of training," He says dismissively, as if that's a perfectly normal thing to say. After a split second, he suddenly seems to realise something. "Oh, how rude of me! I don't believe I've introduced myself..."

He bends forward and holds out a hand to me, his smile returning ten-fold. It's only now that I realise just how much of a _giant_ this man is. His hand alone appears to be at least three times the size of mine, and I'm pretty sure he could punt me across the room like a football if he wanted to with legs as long as that. I scrutinise his hand for a moment, observing absently that his nail polish is very nicely done, then tentatively place my own hand in it.

With a brisk tug, he pulls me up onto my feet with all the ease of picking up a water bottle. Then, giving my hand a vigorous shake that makes my arm feel as if it's about to be yanked right out of its socket, he says brightly, "My name is Diavolo. I rule over the population down here – in fact, someday soon, I'll be crowned king of the Devildom."

"Oh— oh, okay," I mumble as he lets go of my hand, then gives me a hearty clap on the shoulder that almost sends me straight back to the floor again. My arm now feels alarmingly numb. "Uh, nice to meet you, Mr Diavolo...?"

"You will address him as Lord Diavolo," cuts in another voice, and for the first time I realise that Red Man - no, Diavolo - and I aren't alone in the hall. There appear to be at least four other people, one of which is now standing directly behind the newly-introduced Lord.

I glance over their faces quickly, then blanche. Just my luck - they all look about eight feet tall, and that orange one over there has to be at least nine. _You know, that one sitting on the end is kind of built like a chopstick. I could probably beat him in a fight, right? One kick to the back of the knees and he'd be tumbling like a Jenga tower._

Going back to the one who's just interrupted my chat with Diavolo, though, I conclude that, while I absolutely am not capable of doing so, I would definitely fight him if given an opportunity. He radiates the kind of air of pure authority that activates my fight-or-flight reflex in an instant, but considering the absolute bullshit that's happening right now, I'm a bit too numb to feel any kind of fear. I note subconsciously that his black hair lightens in a gradient to light grey at the ends in a way that I'm pretty sure hair doesn't usually work. Does he dip the ends in bleach? Does he go to a hairdresser on the regular to get it dyed? Or is he just going grey early? He looks like he's in his twenties, but I suppose nothing's impossible right now, especially for a guy whose irises can apparently be a shade of dark grey with crimson pooling at the bottom. 

The corner of his mouth quirks almost derisively when he looks down at me, as if he's some high-and-mighty king looking down on a mildly amusing court jester. My first instinct when met by a look like that is usually to run for the hills, but my second instinct (as the ancient warrior that I’m probably descended from suddenly possesses me for a split second) is to immediately sock him in the face. Looking around me, though, taking into account how everything here appears to be at least twice as big as I’m used to them being, as well as the presence of the multiple other giant men, I decide to follow my third instinct: stand stock still on the spot, be as polite as possible, and hope for the best.

"Sorry," I say, my voice going up at an entire octave. I hurriedly clear my throat as one of the men sitting at the long table behind Scary Man and Diavolo laughs, furiously willing my brain not to make me start tearing up out of sheer mortification. Carefully trying to keep my tone even, I tuck my hands in front of myself and bow forwards a little. "U-um, nice to meet you, Lord Diavolo."

"Now, now, there's no need for that!" Diavolo says genially, though he does look pleased by the gesture. I quickly straighten up, and he pats my head so hard that I almost keel over - _again_. "Really, I don't mind. Well, now that introductions are out of the way, would you like to take a seat? We still have much to discuss."

I glance quickly at Scary Man out of the corner of my eye. He raises an eyebrow at me, but doesn't say anything. I take that as a good sign and obligingly skitter over to the chair that Diavolo is indicating with his hand, then pause, noticing a small problem. The seat's too high up for me to be able to actually sit down.

After a moment of panic, I decide to just jump at it and hope for the best. Fortunately for my increasingly likely impending meltdown, I don't immediately fall and make a fool out of myself, but I do wobble around precariously for a moment. Still, I manage to find my bearings and sit down properly, taking off my blazer and draping it over my lap as I do. I'd rather keep my legs like most of my emails: unseen.

I shuffle forwards, right to the edge of the chair, but then find that I'm still not quite close enough to the table for comfort. I have a brief moment of deliberation, then reach down and grab the edges of the seat and jerk my entire body forward so that the chair almost hops along the floor. Finally, once I'm satisfactorily close to the table, I pull the ends of my school jumper over my hands and place them neatly in my lap.

Diavolo, who I finally notice has been watching me with a kind of intrigued fascination, clears his throat as he realises that I've situated myself, and pulls up the chair opposite mine. Scary Man doesn't sit down; instead, he chooses to stand behind Diavolo like some kind of bodyguard. For some reason, he's holding one hand to his chest like a scorned Victorian woman. _That looks really awkward to keep up._

"Well then," Diavolo says brightly, clapping his hands together and looking for all the world like a particularly fresh-faced secretary, "First of all, I'd like to offer you a warm welcome to our school – the R.A.D."

"R.A.D.?" I repeat, cogs already beginning to spin in my monkey brain.

"It stands for Royal Academy of Diavolo."

I attempt to disguise a snicker, but I'm too slow. Scary Man's eyes narrow dangerously at me. His voice deliberate and threatening, he asks slowly, "What is it that is so amusing to you?"

I hurriedly shake my head, coughing to cover up another snort before I can give Scary Man another reason to murder me right me now. "Ahem, ahem, sorry, it's just that, uh... R.A.D. spells out the word rad."

There's a long silence. One of the other three men sitting several feet away – the one with green eyes and blonde hair straight out of a manga (he even appears to have an ahoge) – lets out an amused chuckle. I grin nervously up at Scary Man as he scrutinises me.

"Very well," he says finally, and his brows smooth out again.

 _Not a man of many words, is he?_ I comment to myself, a whole lot more relieved about Scary Man backing off than I'm willing to admit.

"Um, Lord Diavolo, sir," I venture after a split second, not wanting to let the room slip into yet another awkward silence. "I have a question, if that's alright?"

Scary Man's eyes narrow slightly again, but Diavolo looks more pleased than anything. "Of course! Ask away!"

I hesitate, debating whether or not my question is a dumb one, then decide _ah, fuck it,_ and ask anyway. "What's the atmosphere down here like?"

Diavolo goes quiet. I'm about to get extremely worried for my own safety when I realise that the look on his face is more one of very deep thought rather than anger or offence. To be fair, it's a valid question, right? There's no evidence that directly suggests two separate realms will have the same scientific rules, or that, even if they did, they'd share the same chemical structures and concentrations.

"Well, um..." Diavolo says after a long while, raising his hand to his chin, "I'd... hope it's welcoming?"

I hurriedly hold my breath to prevent another laugh as Scary Man shakes his head. "I don't think that's what she meant."

Both Diavolo and I turn to look at him, one of us with more surprise than the other. I hadn't expected Scary Man to just step into the conversation like that, but I suppose he's a man of more words than I'd originally anticipated. _Well, that's what I get for being an awful judge of character. Jesus on a boat, his voice is deeper than the Pacific._

"I believe the human was referring to the air here," Scary Man tells Diavolo. His hand is still firmly planted on his chest - I don't think it's even moved a centimetre. Has he glued it there or something?

_Hey, wait a hot Kentucky fried second, what did he just say?_

"Sorry, 'the human'?" I interject before the paranoid voice in the back of my head has a chance to talk me out of doing so. "Does that mean you guys are, what, demons?"

Diavolo and Scary Man both go silent. I shrink back slightly, wondering if what I've just said is really offensive in some way or another. _Shoot, what if 'demon' is like this realm's equivalent of the n-word? Have I just been incredibly racist? Or are these guys just super devout Christians? Wait, does Christianity even exist in this realm?_

I'm saved from mental combustion when Scary Man finally nods and responds with an almost hesitant, "...indeed. That's sharp of you."

 _Oh, not racism, then. Phew._ "Oh, well… not really. I mean, I wasn't going to be expecting a guy called Will to be in a place called the Devildom. Anyway, about the atmosphere…?"

"It's perfectly breathable, if that's what you're asking," Diavolo reassures me quickly. "After all, I'm sure that if it wasn't, we'd have noticed by now."

I frown slightly up at him. "You... didn't consider whether or not the atmosphere down here was breathable for a human? My guy, different species breathe different things. I could've died in... what, five minutes, tops?"

It isn't until I've finished talking that I realise how casually I've just spoken to him. Luckily for me, though, Scary Man doesn't seem to have noticed; he and Diavolo are exchanging a slightly apprehensive looks. From somewhere behind him, Blonde Man lets out another quiet chuckle. He’s absolutely loving this, isn't he? 

"I... suppose," Diavolo finally says slowly. "But, well, that didn't happen, so... we shouldn't dwell too long on it...?"

I almost laugh at him – the way he's trying to brush off a potentially life-risking oversight reminds me of my school's headmistress, who I'm about 99% sure is responsible for the ‘mishap’ that led to poor Barnaby in sixth form taking a swan dive off his roof. But, while incompetent authority has never failed to both disappoint and amuse me, Diavolo seems a genuinely nice guy who's just a little dumb of the ass, so I forgive him. (Scary Man is also still right there behind him, and I'm pretty sure he could turn me into a pancake if he just stomped on me real hard. While I'm all for the void of death, I would prefer not to be flattened to reach it.)

"...yeah, sure.” is my compliant response after a moment of thought. To be honest, the chemical makeup of the air should probably be the least of my concerns right now, but if I'm good at anything, it's deflecting overthought to entirely the wrong subjects. I should probably just be grateful I haven't started thinking about something like the reason why these demons seem to speak perfectly fluent English despite being from a completely different world. _Something like the_ _TARDIS translation matrix, maybe?_

"You're being oddly calm about this," Scary Man states, raising an eyebrow at me. "I'd have thought this ordeal would be more distressing for you, but you seem to be taking it well."

"I mean, I guess..." I shrug and look down at the wood-grain pattern of the table, finding that he’s extremely hard to look in the eye. Must be the intimidation factor - or probably the fact that I’ve never been able to make eye contact with anyone without getting uncomfortable. "It _is,_ but to be honest I get so stressed on the regular that this doesn't really bother me too much. I think my brain's just gone _this might as well happen,_ y'know?"

"Well, that's one way to think about it," he comments, then goes quiet again. I wonder if I've somehow managed to piss him off again, but it seems that he's just run out of things to say; he repositions his hand on his chest and starts staring off into the distance. The Victorian lady parallels really are becoming too heavy to ignore – his expression and posture resembles that one photo of an old murderous governess I had to study in History almost uncannily.

Diavolo, at any rate, doesn't seem to have been bothered by the blip in conversation. Rather, he seems to take it as more of an opportunity.

"Ah, dear me, I don't believe I've formally introduced you yet," He says brightly, indicating Scary Man with his hand. "This here is Lucifer. He's the vice president of the R.A.D.'s student council and just so happens to be my right-hand man – and not just in title, I assure you. He'll be one of the first you go to when you need help. Lucifer, I'm assuming you know what you need to explain?"

Scary Man – Lucifer, like the fallen angel in Christianity, apparently – nods sharply and moves to meet my gaze again. "You've been brought down here to the Devildom to be part of a student exchange program that Lord Diavolo has devised to strengthen demonkind's relationship with both the Celestial Realm and the human world. Two of R.A.D.'s students have been sent up to the human world, and another two have been sent to the Celestial Realm; you are one of two four students enrolled here at the R.A.D., with the other three being another human and two angels, respectively. The program will last precisely one year, after which you will be returned to your life in the human world."

He doesn't pause even once during his entire speech – he sounds as if he's swallowed a script. It takes my brain a long moment to process what he's just told me, considering it's quite a bit to unpack, but as soon as I do, I'm immediately filled with a whole lot more questions than answers.

"I'm sorry, what?" I question, more than a little bewildered. "You do know kidnapping is a crime, right?"

My voice is definitely a good few decibels above what's considered courteous, but luckily Lucifer seems more amused than angered. He answers with a surprising amount of benignity. "Well, it's true that our method was a little uncouth, but I can assure you that we'll do all that is in our power to make sure you won't fall under any harm during your time here. And - let me make this clear - that is a _lot_ of power."

"I don't doubt that, sir, but I was thinking more about the folk back home," I reply, shaking my head slightly. "I'm assuming you haven't asked my parents or teachers for permission for the program, have you? Even if I don't get myself murked while I'm here, what do I say to them once I get back?"

Lucifer and Diavolo exchange another look. Now that I think about it even more closely, I'm starting to see far too many holes in this plan. First of all, how does this improve relations between realms if the human world isn't even aware of the Devildom, or this Celestial Realm that Lucifer was talking about? And, even if they did, is this really the best way to do it? I'm starting to get the feeling that Diavolo doesn't really know what he's doing.

After another moment's thought, however, I suddenly remember something rather important about Lucifer's explanation.

"Hang on a moment," I announce, holding one hand in the air. Lucifer and Diavolo both turn to me; Lucifer raises an eyebrow to indicate that I should continue. "You said I'm here to be... a student?"

"Yes...?" Diavolo answers, but the uncertainty in his voice is not very comforting at all. "Of course, we wouldn’t be forcing the full curriculum on you, but you will be attending classes along with the other pupils..."

I take in a very deep breath. To be perfectly honest, I was actually starting to get rather thrilled about this whole ordeal once I realised that I didn't have to go to that cesspit of a secondary school for a year, but now that it's hit me that I’ll have to attend a school full of demons who might well all be just as large and intimidating as the ones in the room with me, I'm more than a little disheartened.

Planting my elbows on the table (rather awkwardly, might I add, considering how high the tabletop is), I press my hands together as if praying and hold them to my face. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that's a really bad idea."

Diavolo gives me a bemused and slightly worried look. "...why?"

I blow out and angle my clasped hands towards him. "Because I'm really stupid."

Blonde Man snorts so loudly this time that Lucifer turns around and shoots him a stern look. Diavolo, on the other hand, lets out a roaring bellow of a laugh, throwing back his head as if he's just heard the funniest joke in the world. 

"My, my, you certainly are an amusing one!" He exclaims, and I'm not entirely sure whether to feel insulted or not. "I have a feeling you'll have no trouble settling in here – in fact, I'd wager you might be just the kind of human we're looking for!"

_That's a lot of pressure, sir, please do not put so much weight on my shoulders. I might die._

"Now, let's not get too ahead of ourselves," interjects Lucifer as I try to offer Diavolo a smile that ends up feeling more like a grimace. "We still have to discuss what you'll be doing during your year here."

 _Oh no._ "Oh, um, sure?"

Lucifer smiles – which doesn't look nearly as terrifying as I'd thought one would look on him – and begins, "You'll be following the usual first year curriculum that students here do – with some tweaks made, of course, to make up for your age. The student exchange program also features several special tasks throughout the year, and you'll be expected to write a paper about your stay here once it ends..."

He trails off, and there's an uncomfortable silence as I wait for him to continue. When he clears his throat with a subtle cough, I suddenly realise that he's already finished. "Wait, that's it?"

Lucifer frowns slightly, then inclines his head. "Yes. Do you have any questions?"

I think for a moment, mentally sweeping the stupider queries back into the deepest recesses of my brain so that I don't somehow blurt them out, then sort through the few remaining to find the most pertinent one. Finally, slowly, I say, "Do you have... a written syllabus?"

Diavolo wrinkles his brow and brings a hand up to his chin. "I believe we do, but I don't know where they're being kept..."

“Then it's a good thing I took the precaution of keeping one on me," Lucifer says, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out a neatly folded sheet of what appears to be parchment. I hurriedly reach to take it as he leans across the table to hand it to me. "Go ahead and read through it. It'd be wise to familiarise yourself with the subjects."

I do exactly as he says, scanning through the units and lessons listed. A growing sense of confusion pools at the bottom of my stomach. The subjects listed include 'Curse-Breaking', 'Foundation Potions', 'Enchantments Level One', ‘Plants of the Underworld', and 'Devildom History' – it's like they took their curriculum straight out of Hogwarts.

My confusion must show on my face, because Lucifer cocks his head slightly to the side and asks, "Is something wrong?"

"Huh?" I glance up at him and quickly shake my head, folding the paper and tucking it into one of the many pockets in my own blazer. "Oh, no, I was just wondering... no maths? Or science? You know, like... photosynthesis?"

"Photo...?" Lucifer goes quiet for a moment and thinks. “...I'm afraid I'm not familiar."

 _What._ I barely prevent my jaw from dropping out of pure disbelief. "Y… you don't know what photosynthesis is?"

"No. Should I?"

_Lucifer doesn't know what photosynthesis is? Giant intimidating demon man... doesn't know basic biology?_

I jam a hand to my mouth to prevent myself from laughing out loud. _No, don't laugh, that's rude. After all, different realms will have different rules, right? In all likelihood, the Devildom could be like one of those fantasy worlds I've read about that run on magic..._

_But still... this is just too good!_

"Is there something wrong?" Diavolo asks as my shoulders begin to tremble with effort. "Should we get you something...?"

"No, no, it's fine," I manage to get out, beginning to cough furiously into my fist in an attempt to mask my glee. "Just – _heh_ – got something in my throat, give me a moment, sorry..."

Unfortunately, while my efforts successfully prevent Lucifer from realising that I'm essentially laughing at him, I end up breathing in awkwardly and choking on my inhale, which reduces me to a series of distressed and very real coughs for almost a minute straight. Diavolo and Lucifer's expressions become more and more disturbed as each second passes, but I manage to stabilise my breathing before I can cough up my lungs.

"Ouch," I mutter under my breath, thumping a fist on my chest to make sure I don't start choking again. "Sorry about that."

"Are you feeling alright?" Diavolo asks tentatively, as if afraid I'll start asphyxiating on the spot.

"Yeah, of course, just got my strings crossed for a sec there," I give an embarrassed chuckle, clearing my throat one final time before leaning forward on the table. "So, um, anyway, about that paper you mentioned... is it meant to be, like, an essay?"

"Essentially, yes," Lucifer replies after a moment, evidently jarred by the sudden shift in subject. "But you don't need to worry about that. It's still a long way off right now; you really don't need to start preparing for it until your last month."

I nod several times, almost reaching below the table for my not-present bag to retrieve my also not-present homework diary out of reflex. "Is there a required word count?"

"We're still working that part out," Diavolo chimes in. "We'll wait until we see how you exchange students do with your tasks."

"Right..." I press my lips together into a line and swing my legs back and forth several times, tapping my fingers on the table. "What... do these tasks involve?"

An amused huff escapes from Lucifer's mouth, and he gives me another smile, this one a lot more reassuring than the last one. "You don't need to look so nervous, you know. We've taken your age into account, and you'll have someone to look after you during the year as well – that someone being my brother, Mammon."

_Isn't Mammon another one of those high-up demons in Christianity? I'm starting to see a pattern here. I swear, if there's just a dude wandering around down here called Satan... well, I don't know what I'll do, but it'll be pretty darn funny._

"In fact," Lucifer continues, now looking a little irritated, "He was meant to be here for your arrival, but it seems he's not planning on showing... well, you'll still be needing this, in any case."

He spins round and retrieves something from behind him, then sets it down on the table and slides it over to me. I stare down it for a moment, unsure.

"Take it," Diavolo encourages. "It's not going to bite you or anything."

I look up at him, then nod quickly and reach out to pull the thing towards me. It looks like a small tablet of some kind.

"This is a D.D.D.," Lucifer tells me. "It's quite similar to the smartphones of your world..."

He pauses as I slowly pick the D.D.D. up. It's almost the size of my face. "Well, the way it works is, anyway. You'll be using it to keep up with your work and to keep in contact with anyone you need to down here. Now, place your thumb on the home button for me – it's already been keyed to your profile."

The figurative devil sitting on my right shoulder wants to know how he'd react if I just refused, but unfortunately the fear of authority that has been engraved into me since childhood overpowers that curiosity. I place my thumb on what I'm assuming is the D.D.D.'s home screen button; there's a quiet click, and the display lights up with a series of colours and a jolly little jingle as a notice from a bot called Karasu welcomes me. It has a whopping total of six apps – 'Your Tasks', 'Messages', 'Phone', 'Contacts', 'To Do', and 'Devilgram'.

"Nice," I say. "What do I do with it?"

"Your first order of business should probably be to call Mammon, since he insists on being tardy," Lucifer tells me as I fiddle with the volume buttons on the D.D.D.'s side. _Are they tiny devil faces? Oh, that's adorable._ "He should already be in your contacts. Go ahead."

I obediently tap on the app labelled 'Phone', taking a moment to appreciate that the symbol for the app also has tiny devil horns, then scroll down the list of contacts to find the one labelled 'Mammon'. I hover over his name for a while unsurely. I don't think I've ever willingly sent an outgoing phone call out to anyone, not even my dad. I mean, texts get your message across just fine, don't they? Why do I need to _talk_?

"Well?" Lucifer asks with a raised brow, and I realise with a start that I've probably been staring blankly at the screen for longer than is considered normal.

"S-sorry, sir," I mumble vaguely. "Right away..."

After one final moment of contemplation, I press down on the contact and raise the D.D.D. to my ear. It’s surprisingly lightweight for its size, but I'm sure I still look like a goof considering how large it is.

The D.D.D. beeps for about half a minute, and I'm in the middle of wondering if this Mammon is just waiting to see if I give up and hang up so that he doesn't have to answer when the D.D.D. lets out a chirrup to indicate that my call has been answered.

 _"Oi, who the hell is this?"_ A rough voice barks. I immediately blanche and move the D.D.D. away from my ear slightly. It’s so loud that I'm pretty sure everyone else in the room heard it as well.

"Uhhh," I begin tentatively after a moment. "Howdy?"

 _"Don't 'howdy' me."_ Mammon, I'm assuming, responds irritably. _"Who the fuck are you?"_

I pause. I’ve been given an opportunity that not many come across in their lives by sheer chance, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to take it. Finally, though, after steeling my nerves as much as possible, I reply in a comically exaggerated voice, "Who the fuck are _you?"_

To my complete and utter joy, Mammon responds perfectly - so perfectly that I wonder if he knows what I’m referencing and is just playing along. _"I asked ya first."_

"I asked you second."

There's a long silence. Blonde Man lets out another short, sharp laugh. I think that's the fourth time now - I'm kind of honoured he thinks I'm so funny. _Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all night..._

" _..."_ On the other end, Mammon is quiet for so long that I start to think he's already hung up on me. Finally, though, he responds gruffly, _"Whaddya want?"_

"Ah, well, I'm supposed to be telling you to come to the, uh..." I trail off as I realise that I don't actually know where to tell Mammon to go.

I look up at Lucifer for help. He quirks a brow, then obliges, saying, "The R.A.D. assembly hall."

"To come on down to the rad assembly hall," I relay to Mammon, adding a little bit of an American twang to my words for effect. Lucifer's eyes narrow yet again, evidently displeased by my little joke, but when Diavolo chuckles in amusement, he relaxes again. _Man, either this guy has some sort of sworn life-or-death honour-upholding contract or he's just really whipped. He's switching moods faster than celebrities switch datemates._

_"Hah? So you're one of those human exchange students, are ya? Why should I listen to ya?"_

I'm starting to get some heavy anime delinquent vibes from this man. I respond, now back to my usual accent, "Um. Cause you're supposed to be helping me or something, apparently."

There's a pause. Then Mammon starts cackling. _"Psh, no way! What am I supposed to get outta babysittin' some human? Good luck to ya, but I ain't doin' squat."_

I can't say I wasn't expecting him to say something like that. I sigh and cut him off as he starts to say something about hanging up with a frank and to-the-point, "Mr Lucifer's the one who told me to call you, you know."

Mammon pauses. Then he scoffs, but I note that he sounds substantially more subdued now. _"Lucifer? What, do ya think ya can just hold a name over my head and I'll do whatever you say?! Nice try, but you'll have to try harder to make THE Mammon listen to ya!"_

"Well, it's your grave you’re digging, buddy," I mumble, then look back up at Lucifer and point back at the D.D.D. "What do I do now?"

"Pass it over," He sighs, an irked expression on his face. I obligingly pass it over the table, and he brings it up to his ear. A dangerous-looking smirk pulls at the corner of his lips; it isn't even aimed at me, but I still feel kind of terrified for a moment. " _Mammooooooooon?"_

There's an indiscernible yelp on the other end, followed by some nervous stammering that I can't quite make out. A moment later, Lucifer nods, satisfied, then taps something on the screen before passing the D.D.D. back to me. I glance down to find that he's taken the liberty of ending the call already.

 _Hey, aren't you wearing gloves? How the heck did you operate a screen with gloves on?_ I don't say. Instead, I simply comment, "He sounds... reliable?"

Lucifer gives me an unimpressed look, evidently seeing through my thinly veiled lie with ease. "Does he?"

I go quiet. Then, my voice low, I admit, "Not really, no."

Blonde Man laughs yet again. The sound seems to remind Diavolo of something; he snaps his fingers and announces, "Ah, I almost forgot! We still have a few introductions to make. Lucifer, if you'll do the honours?"

"I suppose so..." Lucifer's expression makes a funny motion that, in another reality, could be considered 'pulling a face'. "Much as I dread the idea."

He moves away from his spot by Diavolo's chair and motions for me to stand up. I quickly obey, jumping off my chair so hurriedly that I almost trip and smash my face against the table like an idiot. Still, I manage to catch myself just in time and scamper around the table to Lucifer before anyone can notice my slip-up. He pauses to let out a quiet, long-suffering sigh, then indicates with his head for me to follow him over to where the other three demons are sitting. Blonde Man is the first to stand up in greeting; Chopstick and Orange follow soon after. 

"Here they are," sighs Lucifer dispassionately, folding his arms and looking them over with what can only be described as exasperation on his face. _Poor guys haven't even said a word and he's already disappointed in them._ "Three of my brothers... Satan, Beelzebub, and Asmodeus."

 _Haha, I was right!_ I'm almost too distracted by my delight that there really is just a guy down here straight up called _Satan_ to realise that Chopstick Man is speaking.

"Really, could you be any more unenthusiastic?" He complains, pouting. He tosses his elaborately styled fringe out of his eyes and crosses his arms. "You could sound a bit prouder, you know? It's your adorable little brother you're introducing, after all!"

"That's Asmodeus," Lucifer tells me, showing absolutely no indication that he's heard a thing. "You might want to keep your distance from him... As the Avatar of Lust, he's not exactly the safest individual to be alone in a room with."

"Well, I never!" gasps Asmodeus, pressing a hand to his chest in pure offence. "First you ignore me, and now you're talking about me like I'm some— some _scoundrel!"_

I inspect him carefully. He seems harmless enough, but looks can be deceiving, I suppose. _Hang on._ "Wait, what was that about an Avatar of Lust?"

"I believe you call them the Seven Deadly Sins in the human world," Blonde Man chimes in, smiling pleasantly when I turn to look at him. "There are seven of us brothers, and each of us embodies one. Lucifer's the Avatar of Pride, in case you were wondering..."

He pushes himself off the table he's leaning on and approaches me, holding out his hand. The smile on his face doesn't shift even a bit – it's almost unsettling. "Anyway, since he’s neglected to, I might as well introduce myself. My name is Satan - Avatar of Wrath. I'm the fourth-eldest."

I inspect his hand for a moment as if it might turn into a snake and bite me, then reach up and give it one of the most pathetic shakes ever. "Lovely to meet you. So, uh, there's an age order too?"

"Well, it's more based on power rather than actual age," Satan shrugs, releasing my hand and shifting his weight onto one leg. Strangely enough, his hand moves to rest on his chest, much like Lucifer, except that he uses his left hand rather than his right. "Lucifer's the oldest, which means he's the most powerful."

I nod, finding that this very much makes sense. "He's definitely got the air for it."

Satan raises an eyebrow. "The 'air'?"

"You know, the way people in high positions just give off those... vibes?" I wiggle my hands about in front of me uncertainly in an effort to get my message across. "And that thing they do when they look at you like you're a worm stuck to the bottom of their shoe. Very intimidating."

He shakes his head, but lets out a laugh nevertheless. "Well, you've summed up Lucifer pretty well there."

"That's enough, Satan," Lucifer interrupts. He turns to me. "Don't let your guard down around him. He can put on a smile at the slip of a hat, but looks can be deceiving. He wouldn't hesitate to obliterate you if provoked."

"So that's how it is, is it?" scoffs Satan. The smile on his face slips briefly, replaced by a scowl that physically makes me recoil a little. "I can control myself, Lucifer."

"Hey, are you _all_ ignoring me now?!" interrupts Asmodeus before Lucifer can respond, now looking rather miffed. "You didn't even finish introducing me!"

Lucifer lets out another sigh, and I swear I hear him mutter a snarky, _'it was intentional, I assure you'_ under his breath. At any rate, Asmodeus doesn't seem to actually need him for introductions; mere moments later, the irritated look on his face is replaced with a dazzling smile as he skips up to me with his own hand outstretched. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, darling!" He says, sweet as honey. "Just call me Asmo! You come to me if you ever need fashion or makeup tips, okay?"

"Oh, um, yes, hello..." I gingerly place my hand in his. He has a rather peculiar handshake – he just kind of delicately flicks his wrist up and down. I can't exactly complain, though, considering the absolute joke of a handshake I gave Satan about a minute ago. "Ah, I like your nails."

He gives a delighted gasp, and I'm not entirely sure if he's being dramatic or not. "Why, thank you! They really are lovely, aren't they?"

With all the enthusiasm of a child with a new toy, he holds out both hands, bending forward slightly so that they're both at eye level for me, palms facing down so that I can get a good look at the smooth colours of his nails. "I spent _aaaages_ on them. I'm glad someone finally appreciates them!"

"Mhm, mhm, mhm," I nod absent-mindedly, leaning forward to get a closer look. "Whoa, the colours are really smooth..."

"Aren't they just?" He coos happily, wiggling his fingers about. Then, quite suddenly, his voice seems to take on a much breathier quality, and he leans forward. "I have a feeling we'll get along just fine, darling, don't you think?"

I wrinkle my nose in distaste and take a subtle step backwards, wondering if Lucifer would object if I hid behind him. Asmodeus notices quickly, and he cocks his head to the side, his voice returning to the bubbly-bright tone it had been before. "Hey, what's up with you?"

"Nothing, nothing," I dismiss, suddenly becoming very fascinated with my shoes. "Don't worry about it..."

Asmodeus seems to want to question me further, but Lucifer quickly steps in, a rather pinched look on his face. "Are you done?"

I nod quickly; Asmodeus, on the other hand, goes to say something, then changes his mind when he sees Lucifer's expression and scuttles backwards to stand beside Satan. Lucifer, satisfied, finally indicates the final demon and tells me, "That grumpy one there is Beelzebub – the sixth oldest."

Beelzebub, who looks to be about nine feet of muscle with hair so orange that it completely redefines the term ‘ginger’, huffs and digs his hands into his pockets like a child. "Lucifer, I'm hungry."

Lucifer shoots him a warning look. "That's too bad. Behave yourself."

"..." Beelzebub scrunches up his face for a second, then hesitantly shuffles up to me, proffering a large hand. "You can call me Beel if Beelzebub's too long. I'm the Avatar of Gluttony."

I place my hand in his. His handshake is firm and rather toasty – he’s almost like a big space heater. "Nice to meet you, Mr Beelzebub."

He nods and pulls his hand back. There's an awkward pause as the three brothers and I just look at each other, unsure of what to do now. Eventually, Lucifer speaks up.

"You've already spoken to Mammon," He says. "Which just leaves Levi, but you'll meet him in due time. Meanwhile, we still need to talk about your living arrangements..."

"The brothers will essentially be your protectors during your stay in the Devildom," Diavolo chimes in brightly. He's vacated his chair and is now standing with the rest of us, his hands set on his hips and a grin pulling at the corners of his lips. "Which means you'll be staying with them at the House of Lamentation."

"The House of...?" _Now that's a cheesy Halloween horror attraction title if I've ever heard one._ "Wait, so are the other exchange students staying there as well?"

Diavolo shakes his head. "No. All three other exchange students have their own methods of protection, but you're the only one out of them who doesn't have any kind of magical power at their disposal, so you’ll need some extra protection - which is why we’ve decided to put you there."

"Oh. Okay."

"Rest assured, you'll be perfectly safe," Lucifer tells me. I note absently that he's placed his hand back on his chest. _Is that really his preferred resting position? Seems kinda inconvenient to me. I mean, his elbow would just be sticking out all the time..._ "You'll be our responsibility throughout the year, and so I will personally make sure you don't come to any harm."

"O-oh," I say slowly, unsure of how I'm supposed to respond, fiddling with the ends of my sleeves. "Thank you...?"

He nods. We subside into silence again, but it feels a bit more natural this time. I take a moment to collect myself.

_This whole thing really is just... wild. What's going on back up at home? I know Diavolo said I wasn't dead, but maybe he was just talking about my soul or something? Is my body still back at school? Did I just drop dead in the middle of History? I mean, I know it's what I've always wanted, but in terms of death, that's a pretty drab way to go. I would have preferred being eaten by a dragon or something._

_And what if I just disappeared in the middle of class? How are they going to figure that one out? What's Dad going to think? Will they let him take a break for once? And what am I supposed to say when the year's over and I get back? Hey, maybe I'll end up on Buzzfeed Unsolved! That'd definitely be a highlight..._

I'm shaken out of my thoughts by a series of loud thumps approaching the room, as if some giant is stomping along the corridor. My first instinct is to leap for cover, but I have the sense to look at Lucifer and Diavolo first; neither look particularly phased, so I conclude that this probably isn't something to worry about. Well, I suppose that if everyone down here is the same size as the five demons I've met so far, it only makes sense their footsteps would be way louder than what I'm used to. 

"Ah," Lucifer sighs, "It seems the idiot has arrived."

A split second later, the large doors at the end of the room swing open, and a man with a shock of white hair and a poorly-knotted yellow tie barges in. He looks, for lack for better of a word, _pissed_. 

"Hey!" He shouts, "Just _who_ do ya think you are—"

He stops short and looks around. The angry expression on his face flashes with confusion. "Oi, where the hell's the human?"

I stare at him for a moment and feel my face scrunch up in pure disbelief. _Oh, you have got to be kidding me._

Satan, meanwhile, lets out a loud laugh. "Seriously, Mammon? You're even stupider than I thought."

"What are you talkin' about?!" Mammon spins around on the spot. "You hidin' it somewhere or something?"

 _Seriously...?_ I cough slightly and raise my hand. "Uh, sir, I'm right here."

He blinks and swings around. His eyes dart around for a moment, then finally move down and land on me. 

" _That's_ the human?" he asks, looking almost thunderstruck. He strides up to me and roughly pokes a finger into the side of my head. I reel back and make a reproachful noise, but don't raise any other complaint; he scoffs and sets a single hand on his hip, pointing at me with his thumb with the other. "This little thing?"

"Hey, watch who you're calling a thing," I object, taking a step to the side to get out of his reach when he reaches out to poke me again. "That's not very nice."

He cackles, evidently not very intimidated by my attempt at a protest. "D'you really think you can boss me about, pipsqueak?"

"I'm not bossing you around..." I begin to reply, but cut myself off as he crosses his arms and stomps right up to me. "Oh, uh..."

"Now listen here," He begins, leaning forward to look me right in the face, a nasty glint in his eyes. "I could crush ya like a bug if I wanted to, so you'd better listen up! If ya wanna live, you'll hand over all of your money right now! _And_ all your valuables, too!"

 _Am I being mugged right now? Is that what this is? A mugging?_ "Bold of you to assume I want to live, Mr Mammon."

"Don't mess around with me!" He barks. "You won't be so smug when I _eat_ ya! From the head right down to the feet! Yeah, you heard me!"

I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender, moving backwards skittishly as I start babbling in an effort to conceal my rapidly growing nervousness. After all, showing weakness in front of a predator is essentially a death sentence for the prey, right? "O-okay, okay, calm down, sir! I really don't have any money. Not two coins to rub against each other, not a single pound, not a penny to my name..."

With every step I take backwards, however, Mammon stalks even closer, refusing to give up. Lucifer lets out a weary sigh, a frown steadily climbing up his face as I slowly shuffle behind him in an attempt to hide. Maybe my growing panic is showing on my face, or maybe he just feels sorry for me, because a moment later he takes a step forward to block me from Mammon's greedy gaze, arms folded firmly.

"Mammon, you stop that this instant," he says frostily as I peer around his side hesitantly. "Before I punch you."

Mammon stops in his tracks, but it seems Lucifer's warning was less of a warning and more of a prediction, because he still takes a step forward and drives his fist into him _hard_. Mammon reels back with a wheeze, clutching his side, then looks up with a strange mixture of betrayal and resignation on his face. 

"Hey, what was that for?!" he complains. "I thought you were gonna at least give me a _chance_ to stop before ya punched me!"

"Well, that's what you get for being an idiot," comments Asmodeus, looking completely unphased by the violence that has just taken place in front of him. "You were scaring the poor thing."

"Now introduce yourself _properly_ ," Lucifer commands firmly. "And be at least a _little_ courteous about it."

Mammon grumbles something bitterly, then sighs and approaches me again, scratching casually at the back of his head with one hand and throwing out the other one. I peer distrustfully up at him, still partially hidden behind Lucifer, then very slowly grasp his hand with my own. He gives it a single shake, then drops it, returning both his hands to his hips with a huff.

"Mammon's the Avatar of Greed," Satan tells me, as Mammon seems to be taking up a rebellion and refusing to speak to me now. _I didn't even do anything!_ "Meaning he lives for money and material possessions. They say that anyone he takes an interest in suddenly finds themselves rich with Grimm... but as soon as that interest disappears, so does each coin. He also happens to be the second oldest out of us."

"Second oldest?" I repeat, glancing up at Mammon, who's determinedly glaring off at the wall. "So, he's the second most powerful out of you?"

At that, Mammon seems to perk up. He turns and grins down at me, crossing his arms and looking for all the world like he's just won some prize. "Haha, that's right! And you better not forget it!"

 _Well, that rebellion didn't last long._ Satan shakes his head. "He may be, but he certainly doesn't act it."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?!"

"Seeing as we've gotten introductions out of the way," Lucifer interrupts, shifting slightly on the spot, clearly eager to finish the meeting, "Mammon, you'll be in charge of taking care of the human during their year here as an exchange student."

" _What?!"_ Mammon rounds on his older brother, then seems to think better of it when Lucifer folds his arms and glares down at him so harshly that I'm almost surprised he doesn't melt on the spot. He takes a step backwards, but still refuses to step down. "Why me?! I ain't a babysitter! Can't it take care of itself?!"

"She's not an it, Mammon," sighs Asmodeus, shaking his head in disapproval. "Have a little courtesy, will you?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's racist," I chime in. "You're about to get cancelled, Mr Mammon."

"Cancelled?" Mammon shakes his head with a growl. "The hell are you talkin' about?"

"I'm just _saying_ ," I say with a shrug. "Racism is a big no-no in the human world."

"In any case, Mammon, you know you can't disobey Lucifer," Satan reminds him. "You're not about to refuse a direct order, are you?"

"Well—!" Mammon seems to be about to prove him otherwise, but the moment Lucifer's gloved hand lands on his shoulder, he freezes. Lucifer doesn't even say a word, but his touch alone seems to have been enough to scare the ever-loving daylights out of his brother. "O-o-of course not...!"

Lucifer nods in silent approval and releases Mammon from his grasp. He lets out a subtle, relieved sigh, then turns and jerks his head at me. "But you listen to me, and listen good, got it? I'm only doing this since Lucifer told me to. I ain't gonna let you push me around just cause you're a human! _I'll_ do as I'm told and make sure ya don't get yourself killed as long as _you_ listen, clear?"

I nod hurriedly, not wanting him to start getting all threatening again, even if he's proved himself to be easily managed by his older brother. "Crystal."

"What?"

"Clear as crystal," I clarify. "It's a human saying."

"Crystal ain't even clear half the time..." Mammon raises an eyebrow at me, but he seems appeased by my agreement. "Well, s'long as ya understand!"

He gives my head a rough pat that probably would have sent me through the floor if it wasn't made of what appears to be some sort of stone, but I don't complain – at least he's not threatening to eat me anymore. Satisfied, Lucifer nods and begins, "Well, now that that's all over and done with, we have one last thing to discuss before I send you off to get settled."

I turn to him, tilting my head to the side slightly. "You mean the tasks?"

"Correct." He inclines his head with a small smile. "You catch on quickly. Well, in short, your tasks all have one thing in common – their objective is to keep your soul polished and strong. We've planned them out in a way that you'll also be building up your immunity to demonic attacks throughout the year.

"Now, demons like humans with nice souls – actually, let me put it this way: to a demon, a kind soul is like a shiny jewel. Once a demon has picked you as its target, it'll do anything in its power to charm you into handing it over - and, of course, there are some who will resort to violence to force you to.

"Each demon at the R.A.D. already has their own set of tasks to complete, and these tasks go directly against yours. In other words, it is an experiment of sorts – to see whether the humans will prevail, or if the demons will tempt them into oblivion."

 _This all sounds very illegal. Also, I thought the whole point of this thing was to improvise relations between realms, not put two species against each other in some sort of competition._ "So if I lose, I die?"

"There now, you needn't be so pessimistic," Lucifer says. Whether he's attempting to be reassuring or not, I can't tell, especially through that sadistic-looking smirk on his face. "You have us brothers to assist you, and you will be the only student we lend our powers to throughout the year. Does that make you feel better?"

"Well, I mean..." I purse my lips slightly and shift on my feet. "It does, but isn't that kind of unfair to the other students...?"

Lucifer chuckles. "How very human of you. A demon would take the advantage without a word... but no, you don't need to worry about that, either. The other human exchange student is a sorcerer who possesses enough power in his own right to make it through the year alone, as do the angels. If anything, the only thing we're doing is elevating you to start on the same level as everyone else."

I nod. "Right... do tasks, don't get eaten, got it..."

This whole thing is becoming more and more nonsensical the more I think about it, so I decide not to. I can worry about the logistics and particulars later, but for now I should probably focus... but I can't help but wonder if I could just... _accidentally_ get myself killed? If I just refused to do the tasks, would I just get swallowed by a demon after a couple of weeks? 

_No, no, we don't need those thoughts right now. Snap out of it, bonehead. Life is good. Life is fine._

"Well, I just want y'all to know that if anyone gets eaten, it ain't gonna be _my_ fault," Mammon declares. "Just look at the stupid look on that kid's face. She's probably gonna get herself killed in the first five minutes."

"I don't think you're in any position to be calling anyone stupid, Mammon," Satan shoots back at him. 

"Lucifer, I'm hungry," Beelzebub suddenly complains again, interrupting the rapidly growing tension. I jump slightly - I’d almost forgotten about his presence until he spoke. 

"Behave yourself, Beel."

"..." Beelzebub crosses his arms and glares down at his feet. Meanwhile, I suddenly remember something.

"Hey, I think I still have a croissant in my blazer," I find myself saying, raising a hand as if I'm sitting in class. After Mammon's mishap when he first arrived, I can't trust anyone to see me down here. "Do you want it?"

"Croissant?" Beelzebub looks up - or down, I guess - so quickly that he almost gives himself whiplash. "You mean that twirly bread from the human world?"

"Mhm." I quickly scuttle over to the chair I was sitting on earlier and pick up my blazer, rummaging through many pockets before finally finding what I’m looking for. "I was going to bring it in for my friend to try, but I guess I can't really give it to them now... it's not much, but it's food, right?"

I finally find the pocket that I'd stuffed the croissant into this morning - it could only have been hours ago, but it feels like it was weeks away now – and pull it out with some considerable effort. It looks rather squashed and sad inside its little paper bag, but nevertheless still intact and edible. I look up to find that Beelzebub is already standing over me, looking at the croissant with what I can only describe as _want_.

I tentatively hold the croissant up for him to take, and he grabs it so quickly that I don't even see it happen. He barely gets out a muffled 'thanks' before he's shoving it into his mouth, bag and all.

"He does that a lot," Satan tells me in response to the slightly disturbed expression on my face. "Don't worry, he's perfectly capable of digesting it."

Beelzebub chews and swallows, then gives me an approving nod. "I like her."

"Really? That was fast." Asmodeus comments.

Beelzebub shrugs. "I like croissants."

_Oh, I can tell we're going to get along swell._

Almost as he's read my mind, Diavolo gives a jolly laugh and says happily, "Well, I don't think you'll have any trouble getting along down here, Miss!"

"We're essentially finished here now," Lucifer puts in. He indicates to Mammon. "Mammon, why don't you show her to the House of Lamentation?"

"Huh?" Mammon starts, having seemingly been lost in thought. "Ugh, fine. C'mon, kid."

I stay rooted on the spot for a moment as he sweeps out of the room without another word, unsure of what to do. Finally, I give a hurried bow to Diavolo and the others, bundle my blazer up in my arms, and scamper out after him with a quick, "Um, goodbye!"

Mammon's almost out of sight when I make it out into the corridor, but I manage to catch a glimpse of his white hair disappearing around the corner. Willing my legs to work just a little faster, I run up to catch up with him. 

He glances down at me when I finally get to his side, scowling slightly, but doesn't say a word. I have to increase my pace substantially to keep up with his long strides, and I'm pretty sure he's speeding up just to try to lose me. Afraid as I am of getting him angry again, though, I'm more afraid of getting left alone and lost in the middle of this seemingly enormous building, so I determinedly do my best to keep up with him, even if I am beginning to develop bit of a stitch. _I knew I should have taken Mr Marks up on that fitness club offer..._

"Oi," Mammon says eventually as we approach what appears to be the building's exit. "Just so ya know, I ain't scared of Lucifer or anythin', got it?"

"Yep, got it, you're not scared of him," I say immediately, like a liar. 

He's finally slowed down his pace a little, which means I can now reduce my light jog to a speed-walk. He refuses to meet my eyes as he swings the gigantic door open and pushes me roughly through it. I stumble slightly and almost go careening down the steps leading down from the doors, but catch myself on a railing just in time. 

"Watch it," Mammon grumbles as he walks past me, flicking me in the back of the head. "Lucifer's gonna have my head if ya break ya neck before we even get to the House."

"Sorry..." I mumble, beginning to carefully hop down the stairs – they're too tall for me to comfortably step down. That's definitely at least three times he's done something like that now, which, according to that those anti-bullying assemblies I had back in primary school, means I am being bullied. _I haven't even been here for a day. This sucks._

I follow Mammon in silence for a minute or so as he strides down a neatly brick-laid path, taking a good look at the scenery around me as I do. It seems to be night, but I suppose I can't say that this Devildom place isn't always dark. The whole 'Haunted Palace' aesthetic from inside the assembly hall and the R.A.D.'s corridors doesn't change out here, either. All in all, it's a goth kid's dream.

Though the quietude is comforting at first, it quickly becomes a little unsettling. Searching for something to talk about, I finally land on the one thing that _absolutely no one_ would argue about: religion.

"You know, back in the human world, people think the ruler of hell is a demon called Satan."

That seems to grab Mammon's attention. Though he doesn't turn back to look at me, at least he responds verbally. "Don't be stupid, ya know Diavolo's the ruler of the Devildom."

"Yeah, it's all a bit silly, really," I say, kicking at the ground slightly as I mentally debate how to explain it. "See, there's this religion called Christianity that's really popular. It's pretty much all based on this really big book called the Bible. People who believe in Christianity are called Christians, and Christians believe in this guy called God and also his son, who's really just him, called Jesus. And then there's a villain in the origin story, this ex-angel called Lucifer."

Mammon's shoulders freeze slightly. I fiddle with my sleeves as I try to remember all those RE lessons, as well as that one Hello Neighbour Game Theory about the Neighbour working for the devil. To be honest, the Game Theory is more helpful. 

"I think the story goes that God had four super elite angels, and the Lucifer in the Bible was originally one of them – apparently he was one of God's favourites, too... anyway, I _think_ what happened is Lucifer got a little bit miffed that God was being nicer to the humans than his was to his angels... or was it that he wanted to be more powerful to him? Well, either way, God was pretty upset about the whole thing and kicked him out of Heaven, and then he fell down to Hell and ended up being put in charge of it or something. A lot of people seem to think Satan was just the name Lucifer took on after falling, but I've read somewhere that they're two separate entities. Biblically, anyway..."

There's a long silence. Finally, Mammon mutters, "Man, that's spooky..."

He turns around to face me – he even slows down so that we're walking properly side-by-side. "Where'd ya even get this all from?"

"From Matpat, mostly," I mumble. "But I'm pretty sure _he_ got it all from the Bible. Or Wikipedia, maybe."

"Well, either way, its seriously givin' me the chills," He comments. I pause for a moment, remembering something else.

"You know, I'm pretty sure there's a classification of demons that matches you and your brothers perfectly," I mutter out loud. "I think I read it on Wikipedia while I was doing my RE homework... yeah, I remember! This guy called Pete or something, he came up with this classification that he called something like, uh... Princes Of Evil, maybe? He had all the sins listed the right way, too..."

"What're you babblin' about now?" Mammon asks irritably, shoving his hands into his pockets. Somewhere ahead of us, something that looks like a haunted mansion emerges from the mist. 

I quickly shake my head, dismissing my train of thought - who knows, Mammon could end up taking it as a threat of some kind. "Nothing, nothing..."

He sends me a suspicious side glance. Sensing that he's not impressed by my deflection, I hurriedly attempt to assuage the situation by asking the first question that comes to mind, which just so happens to be a rather gormless and probably controversial, "So, is God real?"

Mammon actually physically stops in his tracks for a moment. For a moment, I'm afraid I'm awakened some kind of deep-set hatred or potential trauma with my stupid question, but then he lets out a sharp laugh. 

"You've sure got some guts, kid!" He exclaims, a grin forming on his face "Askin' a question like that down here! Ya got a death wish or something?"

 _I mean... yeah?_ I hurriedly speed up to keep up with him as he begins walking again, shifting my blazer in my arms before I drop it. "Is it rude?"

He chuckles. "Well, it ain't really _rude_ , but demons sure won't appreciate hearin' that name. You try to keep quiet when it comes to that, got it?"

"Got it..." I go quiet for a moment, but I'm unable to prevent myself asking again. "So is he?"

"What does it sound like?" Mammon shakes his head and reaches out to flick the side of my head again. _He's getting way too comfortable with doing that. Also, ow._ "'Course he exists, but I dunno if he matches whatever ideas you humans have about him."

"Mostly people think he's an old dude with a really long white beard," I say mildly. "Anyway, is it true God hates gay people?"

He goes quiet again. Then, "What kinda question is _that?"_

"Well, it's just that there are a bunch of silly people up in the human world who like to use the Bible to say that the not-cishet community as a whole are all going to hell because what they are isn't 'natural'..." I shake my head and let out a long sigh. "Humanity is just one big dumpster fire if you start diving into the details."

"Sure sounds like it," Mammon scoffs, speeding up slightly to open the massive gate looming ahead of us. It creaks so loudly that I almost slap my hands to my ears to block it out. "But nah, he doesn't really care about that sorta thing."

"Nice," I say, unsure of what else to say in response. 

We both go quiet as Mammon searches about in one of his pockets for a moment, then pulls out a jingling keyring. It takes him almost a full minute of fiddling to find the right key, but I don't blame him - there's got to be at _least_ fifteen on there. How many locked doors is he opening on a daily basis? Or are they just for show? They _do_ look a bit too sparkly and smooth to have been used regularly. 

"You'll have to get one of us to open the door for you whenever ya wanna come in for now," He says to me as he finally picks out the right key and jams it into the lock. "We'll get ya a key of your own soon enough, but they take forever to make."

"Got it," I mumble in response as he turns the key with a decisive _click_ and swings the door open. The first thing I see two enormous dragon statues perched atop a pair of pillars. I immediately decide I like it here.

"Well, this is the House of Lamentation," Mammon says lamely, gesturing around the entrance hallway. I don't see why he seems so unenthusiastic about it - heck, I'd be _thrilled_ to live in a place like this! "Home sweet home."

I move further in as he turns around to shut the door behind us, then pause. "Are those candles? And a chandelier?"

"'Course they are. What, you never seen one before?"

I squint up, then immediately regret it when about ten million little beams of light are immediately reflected right into my retinas. "No, it's just that... do you have to light them up every single time you want the lights on? Seems a bit of a hassle."

"You got a problem with it or somethin'?" 

"I mean, not really, it just doesn't seem very efficient to me..." I crane my neck to look around at the many paintings hung everywhere - there's so many that there seems to be more painting than actual wall. _I'm no interior designer, but I'm pretty sure that's too much. Who even decorated this hallway?_ "You have phones, so why don't you have a basic electrical system?"

"Oi, have some respect, will ya?" Mammon cuffs me around the head and almost sends me into the wall. "This dorm is reserved specifically for student council members. Which means you'll have the honour of living with the top of the R.A.D. social pyramid, so watch ya mouth."

He pauses for a moment, remembering something. "Mind you, Diavolo's even higher up. He's even got his own castle all to himself."

"I guess being royalty has its perks," I say. "Must be nice to have money."

"Ha, sure is!" He gives me a hard pat on the shoulder and starts walking further into the house. I scurry after him, casting my eyes over a bulletin board with nothing but a flyer for something called 'Walpurgis Night' attached to it. "C'mon, kid. I'll show you to your room."

"This place is ginormous," I comment as he begins to lead me down a series of corridors. We're barely a minute in and I already have no idea where we are. "Is there a map?"

"Nah, but you won't need one anyway," He throws his arms behind his head. "You'll get it soon enough. It ain't that hard once you get the hang of it."

"Sure..." I mutter, a little sceptical. My sense of direction is about as impressive as my hair is long, and my hair doesn’t even reach my shoulders.

"Well, ya don't sure don't sound too confident about it," Mammon quips. "Tell ya what, I'll— _oomph!"_

It takes me a good few moments to register what has just happened. One moment Mammon is offering me a grin, hands tucked into his pockets and his shoulders relaxed, and next moment he's sprawled out on the floor with a great big red mark bang in the centre of his forehead. An open door swings about innocently as I stare, positively dumbfounded, at Mammon's prone body. I feel almost as if I've just witnessed a murder.

"U-uh, are you okay—"

"Mammon, you BASTARD!"

I leap backwards as something bursts out of the doorway with such force that several of the candles on the neighbouring wall are blown out. Before I can even fully process what's going on, the something has pounced on Mammon like a cat on a helpless mouse. 

"O-oi!" He tries to get up, but is immediately knocked back again. "What's this about?!"

"You took my money again, didn't you?!" accuses the man straddling him, jabbing a finger into his face so forcefully that he very nearly takes out an eye. "You haven't even paid me back for last time!"

"What're ya talkin' about?!" Mammon yells back, attempting to push him off. "I didn't take nothin'!"

The new demon has unkempt purple-blue hair brushed into a long sideswept fringe and sharp yellow eyes that remind me uncannily of a snake's. His lips are pulled back in a snarl, and I swear that I can see his canine teeth elongating even as I look at them. "Don't lie to me! Give me back my money!"

"Hey, hey, maybe we should calm down a bit..." I attempt to assuage the situation, but my voice comes out so small that even I can barely hear myself. Confrontation and stopping quarrels is _not_ my strong suit (not that I had any to begin with), so how am I supposed to break this up? The only thing I can fight with is words, and even then I need to get myself _really_ riled up to do it. _Do I throw something at him? No, no, from what they were saying, they seem to know each other, and Mammon said only student council officers live here... is this another one of the brothers? Either way, I can't just attack him..._

"C'mon, I _said_ I'd get it to ya!" In one sudden, unnatural movement, Mammon contorts his entire body like a pretzel and lifts his body from the ground in a smooth arc, sending his attacker flying backwards. Purple Man scrambles to his feet as Mammon pulls himself up, glaring at him so furiously that his yellow eyes seem to glow.

"You've been saying that for two hundred _years!"_ he accuses, pointing harshly.”Why should I believe you now?”

“Psh, no!” Mammon scoffs, brushing off his coat and trousers. “It’s two hundred and _sixty_ years, get it right!”

“Two hundred and—?!” I find myself exclaiming out loud quite unintentionally. It seems that the shock of this new information somehow overrides my fear of confrontation. “You’re that old?!”

“Two hundred years ain’t nothing’ for a demon!” Mammon says turning around, shooting a slightly offended look down at me. “And who are you callin’ _old?”_

“Sorry...” I take a small step back and lift my hands into the air. Purple Man whips around and looks back and forth for a moment, his head swivelling around like a robot sentinel, then finally looks down at me.

Quick as lightning, the thunderous expression on his face disappears. In fact, his entire demeanour seems to do a complete 360: he lets out an extremely unintimidating screech and shoots about fifteen entire feet off the ground. Now, those are some _long_ legs, but I’m still pretty sure that’s not supposed to be possible. Actually, considering that I just watched Mammon break his back, I don’t think this world really adheres to what’s scientifically possible or not.

“W-what the—?!” Purple Man jabs his finger at me, trembling slightly. “Where did you come from?!”

At first I’d been planning to reply with something snarky, because this is the _second_ time a demon has somehow managed to completely overlook my presence today, and while that’s not a lot, it’s still weird and a little offensive that it’s happened twice - and for the same reason, as well. Purple Man, however, somehow manages to change my course of thought with a simple question, and thus, I can only think _where did you go, where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?_

“H-hey, I’m asking you a question!” Purple Man half-shouts when I don’t respond, but I notice that he appears to be trying to subtly shuffle away from me. _Am I really that intimidating? He does know he could squish me like a fly if he wanted to, right?_

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask in reply, cocking my head to the side and giving him a puzzled look. 

“Y-y-y-you just appeared out of nowhere!” He almost leaps backwards through the wall when I take a step closer to him. “W-what even are you?!”

“Oi, c’mon,” Mammon interjects, having recovered quickly from his assault and spinal contortion. Straightening out the lapels of his dishevelled-looking blazer, he strides over to me and nudges me with his elbow. “You’re just overreactin’ now.”

“ _Overreacting?”_ Purple Man squeaks, eyes going so wide that it’s as if his eyeballs are going to pop out at any moment. 

“It’s just that human exchange student Lucifer was tellin’ us to mind at breakfast,” Mammon shakes his head. “Have you really been holed up in your room so long that every little thing scares ya? She’s the size of a potted plant, she ain’t gonna do crap.”

Turning to me, he points his thumb back at Purple Man and tells me, “Anyway, this is Leviathan. He’s the Avatar of Envy.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr Leviathan.” I quickly chime, tucking my hands together neatly in front of me and giving him a sharp bow, just as Dad taught me. Another pause follows, and Mammon lets out an amused chuckle. 

“Well, there ya go, Levi,” He comments cheerfully. “See? Totally harmless. Loosen up.”

Leviathan coughs as I raise my head again, raising a hand to his mouth and averting his gaze to the side. Try as he might though, I can still see the pleased little grin tugging on the corners of his lips. _Note to self,_ I think, _Mr Leviathan appears to be easily swayed by being treated with respect. Some kind of power complex, perhaps? Or maybe he just isn’t treated like that very often? He’s a student council officer if what Mammon says is true, so that shouldn’t be so, but..._

“Th-thanks,” Leviathan says after a moment, moving his hand from his mouth to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Uh, nice to meet you too… I guess.”

I don’t pay any mind to his slightly uncertain reply and give him a small smile. After a moment, Mammon claps his hands together and coughs.

“Well! I still gotta show the kid her room, sooooo...” He says, subtly grabbing my collar and beginning to pull me backwards. “See ya ‘round!”

Before Leviathan can make any reproach - or even process what Mammon’s just said - Mammon yanks me around the corner and starts walking again.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, _ow,”_ I complain, fruitlessly attempting to wrench myself out of his grasp. Still, Mammon holds fast, continuing to haul me down a series of corridors, before finally coming to a rough stop in front of a painted black door. 

“Whew, that was a close one,” He whistles, finally releasing me. I stumble and totter about slightly as my feet hit the ground again, then steady myself on the wall. “Levi’s a wuss most of the time, but he can be real scary when he wants to be, ya know?”

“What was all that even about?” I ask, catching my breath. “He seemed really mad at you.”

Mammon at least has the grace to look a little discomfited by the question. “Well now— ya see, uh, I borrowed somethin’ of his a while back… and Levi’s always been stingy with his stuff…”

“It sounded more like he was mad about something financial,” I observe. Mammon flounders for a moment, then sighs and shakes his head, knocking me in the forehead with a reproachful knuckle.

“Don’t ya get smart with me now, kid,” He scowls as I flinch back and raise a hand to rub at the sore spot. “I’ll have ya know that Levi agreed to it himself. I didn’t steal nothin’.”

“Duly noted, Mr Mammon,” I agree quickly, defeated. My poor head has suffered too much abuse today.

He stares down at me for a moment, almost as if jarred by my easy agreement, then grins again. “That’s the way, kid. Ya learn to listen nice and good now, and ya’ll get along just fine.”

“Thanks, Mr Mammon.” I mutter. Then, after a moment, I ask, “...so is this my room, then?”

“Sure is, kid.” Mammon raises a hand and raps his fist smartly against what I thought was wood, but judging by the clangs sounding each time his hand meets the door, it’s actually some kind of metal - or whatever the Hell equivalent of that is. “Ya’ve got a pretty great deal with it. It’s soundproofed, got its own bathroom, everythin’... you’re right next to the kitchen, too.”

I can’t help but perk up at those last words. “Is… is it a communal kitchen?”

“Huh?” Mammon seems a little preoccupied fumbling about on the mantlepiece beside the door to my new room. “Oh, yeah. We take turns makin’ meals, but to be honest, you’re welcome to do whatever ya like in it. So long as ya don’t make a mess, anyway.”

He pauses and glances at me. “I’d tell ya to mind how much you eat in case we run out of food for Beel, but you don’t really look big enough to fit much in ya…”

I don’t say anything in reply, too busy tucking a certain notion into the back of my head. The likelihood of this kitchen in a place called the Devildom having human world food isn’t particularly large, but the idea of trying to fit hell ingredients into one of my favourite recipes is a compelling one. _Well, at any rate, hopefully Mr Beelzebub wouldn’t mind being a taste tester. If he’s the Avatar of Gluttony, it’d make sense that he’d be good at that, right?_

I look up as something jingles and then clicks. In the brief window of time that I’ve just spent thinking about food, Mammon’s found a little key sitting on the mantelpiece and stuck it into a keyhole that I hadn’t spotted on the door handle earlier. 

“Here,” He says, tossing the key to me once he’s turned it in the lock and the door begins to creak open. “That’s yours. The House can get pretty wild sometimes, so Lucifer wanted ya to have your privacy and all that.”

I catch the key with relative ease, then bring it to my eyes to inspect it. It’s much smaller and less ornate-looking than half of the keys I managed to see on Mammon’s keyring, but still far more intricate than the ones back home, with little flames carved around the handle and what look like dozens of runes patterning the metal.

“Whatcha lookin’ so hard for?” asks Mammon as I move the key even closer to my face, squinting to get a good look. “What’s so interestin’ about a key?”

“Do these symbols mean anything?” I ask in lieu of an answer, holding the key forward slightly so Mammon can see what I’m talking about. He leans over, looks over it for a moment, then shrugs and leans back.

“Just ya standard safety enchantments,” He says nonchalantly, turning to swing the door to the room open. “The key'll start burnin’ white-hot if someone takes it without permission, and it’ll reappear in ya pocket if ya lose it somewhere for longer than an hour or so.”

“Whoa,” I say in quiet awe, looking down at the key again. _I’m beginning to like this whole thing more by the minute. It’s like Harry Potter without the transphobic universe overlord._

Spinning the key around my finger once, I slip it carefully into the only zip-equipped blazer pocket I have and look up as Mammon gestures for me to follow me into the room. I’m barely five steps inside when I stop in my tracks.

The room doesn’t look particularly glamorous at a first glance, but one look around tells me that the interior decorating in here would probably cost more than my entire life had it been up in the human world. It has a naturalistic feel to it, with a neatly pruned green foliage climbing over a feature wall and curling across the ceiling in neat spirals, decorated sporadically with tiny flower buds of a deep purple colour. Even all the furniture looks like it’s been carved from tree trunks or braided from branches.

Now that I think about it, though, that might not be entirely a good idea. Like the corridors Mammon and I have passed through on our way here, the room is lit by what appear to be hundreds of candles, with some neatly arranged on a spiral bracket hanging from the centre of the room and several tastefully placed on the walls. Taking the _extensive_ fire hazard of that and coupling it with the apparently all wood decoration isn’t at all promising for my health and safety.)

The bed itself looks as if it’s the size of my entire bedroom back home. It’s been placed tastefully in the corner of the room, laid with dozens upon dozens of luxurious pillows and a thick, velvety duvet embroidered with a lovely moon and star motif that, even as someone who hasn’t touched a needle and thread since Year 9 Textiles, I can still appreciate the craftsmanship of. It’s almost a meter off the ground, though, and even if most of that height is the ridiculously thick mattress, it’s still going to require quite a bit of work to get up on. And what happens when I inevitably roll over too far in the middle of the night and fall out? While it’d be pretty funny, I _really_ don’t want to have died in a place that’s full of demons and possibly cool deadly monsters by falling off a bed.

Mammon interrupts my somewhat awestruck train of thought by clearing his throat and rapping his fist on the desk sitting against the back wall of the room. “So! Comfy enough for ya?”

“Huh?” I’m a little preoccupied with staring at the giant bookshelf beside the desk. _Is it shaped like a coffin? It’s shaped like a coffin._ “Oh— yeah! Yeah, it’s great.”

He inspects me critically for a moment, as if trying to check whether I’m lying. I only offer him a sheepish smile in response, bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet as an awkward silence fills the room.

“Alright then,” He says finally. “That’s good.”

He pauses, looking around the room, then turns back to me and says roughly, “Well, I’m guessing ya won’t need my help finding your way around here, right?”

“I mean, it’s just a room,” I reply with a shrug. “So, no, probably not.”

“Good, good…” He eyes the door, evidently not wanting to stay for any longer than he has to. “Well, I’ll get going, then!”

He pauses for a moment, then raises his hand and gives me a final pat on the head. “You keep outta trouble, got it? I’ll be the one blamed first if ya get killed, so don’t.”

And then, without another word, he sweeps out, leaving me standing in the middle of my new room.

I stand on the spot for a long, long time after the door slams shut. The bizarreness of this entire situation hasn’t missed me, but it’s only now that I’ve really thought about the implications.

The only things of my own that I have with me are the clothes I’m wearing and the various things in the many pockets of my blazer. I quickly drop it on my bed and start rifling through it, pulling out bits of screwed-up paper, a single, tiny locker key, a set of earbuds; nothing particularly of note. I don’t even have my backpack with me, which is where I keep most of my actually useful things - my phone, since school doesn’t let us keep them in our pockets, my pencil case with all my extensive stationary, my notebooks, my calculator, one of those camping tools that has a screwdriver, knife, nail file, bottle opener, pliers, and torch all in one…

I glance over at the enormous wardrobe sitting in the corner of the bedroom. It’s a particularly opulent affair, with panels that have been carved into intricate swirling patterns and what look like little green gems embedded along the edges. Even the joints and handles have been polished to a shine - it’s so pretty that I feel kind of bad that I’m only going to end up putting about ten variations on the exact same outfit in it.

 _Oh, hang on,_ I realise as I trot across the room to hang up my now-emptied blazer up. _R.A.D. clearly has a uniform, I’ll probably have to wear one as well… how do I get one of those?_

The wardrobe is completely empty, save for a couple of clothing hangers that look as if they've been stolen directly out of Marks & Spencer's - even the colour coded little size stickers have been left on them. I suppose whoever put the whole thing together was a little strapped for time. In any case, it does give me an oddly comforting sense of home.

I deposit my blazer with little difficulty (though I have to go right up onto the tips of my toes and physically step up into the wardrobe to reach the rack to hang it) and return to the enormous bed on the other side of the room. I pause for a moment, mentally debating what the most tactical way to hop up onto it would be, then decide _ah, who cares_ , and decide to just throw myself at the bed and hope for the best.

Despite my best efforts, though, I still have the knee joints of an old man and the jump power of a two year old, so instead of landing on top of it, I end up bouncing off the edge of the mattress and landing in the floor in a heap with a pathetic _thump._

I stay there for a long moment. A tired sigh makes its way slowly out of my mouth.

_This is going to be a long year..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> considering the only RAD subjects we hear about in-game are things like seductive speech, curses, and devildom history, i thought it'd be funny to give the demons a curriculum that deals exclusively with that sort of thing and therefore have them have no idea how to calculate the area of a triangle 
> 
> (for clarification the demons do know basic math and of course they know how to read and write, they just don’t know how to do the ~complicated stuff~ like trigonometry and plant cell structure. i’m basing ik’s knowledge off of the current gcse curriculum in britain since she’s at the age where that’s what she’d be learning, by the way)
> 
> this was a pretty exposition heavy chapter, but hopefully it was still entertaining for you! we should get onto some more interesting stuff next chapter! see you then, darlings!


	2. My First Day At Demon College Goes Surprisingly Smoothly

_ KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK _

“Oi! I’d be sleepin’ right now if it weren’t for you, so ya better not keep me waiting!”

I open my eyes blearily to find the wall directly in front of me and something cold beneath me. I shift my legs slightly, then realise, with a sudden flash of exasperation, that I appear to have spent the night sleeping on the floor.  _ How did that end up happening? Did I just… conk out? I can’t believe this… _

“If ya aren’t gonna come out, I’ll just come in!”

I roll over onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, stretching briefly before pulling my knees back up to my chest. Rigid and chilly as the floor is, it’s actually kind of comfortable. Still, though how did I end up on it?

Ah - now that I think about it, I remember. After spending who-knows-how-long contemplating the coming year on the floor, I’d been tentatively asked if I wanted some food by Beelzebub, who informed me that I’d apparently been forgotten by the rest of the house at actual dinner-time and that he’d just remembered my existence on his way to the kitchen for an evening snack.

Well, I’m para-phrasing a little, but that’s basically what he’d said. While I appreciated the sentiment, I was a little too busy still thinking myself into a sixty feet deep hole, so I’d just responded with a ‘no thank you’ and gone back to staring at the ceiling as his footsteps disappeared around the corner. After that… well, I can only assume that I end up falling asleep.

Another set of furious knocks sound from the door. Before I even have time to formulate a response, a distinctive voice hollers, “Alright, that’s it!”

I raise my head from the ground just in time to see the heavy door swing open and a pair of black shoes appear in my field of vision. Mammon stands in silence on the spot for a moment, then abruptly jumps backwards.

“What the hell are you doin’ on the floor?!” He barks, looking a lot more alarmed than he really should be. He shakes his head aggressively, then sets his hands on his hips, peering down at me with a sneer. “Did ya fall out the bed or somethin’?”

I slowly sit up and squint up at him, rubbing at my crusty-feeling eyes with one hand and attempting to pat down my hair with the other. “No… I think I fell asleep down here.”

“Stupid,” He says simply in response, bending over and hoisting me up by the armpits - the same way you’d pick up a misbehaving cat - then setting me back on my feet. “There’s a perfectly good bed right there, ya know.”

I dust off my skirt and start stretching out my arms. “I  _ know  _ that. It just kinda… happened.”

Mammon scoffs, flicking me hard in the side of the head for my apparent foolishness. “Idiot. Go wash your face or somethin’. Breakfast’s in a few.”

I nod and turn around, then pause. “Where?”

He shoots me a look, then points at something with his thumb. “Right there. You’ve got ya own bathroom, see?”

I follow the line of his gesture to see a door that I hadn’t noticed yesterday. “Oh.”

The bathroom is easy enough to navigate despite the size of everything inside, so I wash up quickly, taking a moment to lament just how much like a disturbed panda I look when I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror. Well, the top of my face, anyway. The mirror’s too high off the ground for me to really get a good look at myself in it.

Mammon is tapping his foot impatiently when I emerge. He’s taken the liberty of sitting himself down on my bed, and I have to take a moment just to complain to myself about how _easy_ he makes it look to get up on that thing. To be fair, though, he does have really long legs.

“Took ya long enough,” he comments, getting to his feet again as I hurriedly pull my blazer out of the wardrobe and tug it on. “C’mon, breakfast.”

The kitchen is only a short walk away from my room - just around the corner, in fact. I amuse myself on the way there by craning my neck back about 45 degrees to get a good look at all the paintings across the walls. One in particular looks remarkably like a wonky hole-punch. I wonder what the painter was trying to capture? A hole-punch doesn’t seem the most artistic option.  _ Do the demons down here even know what a hole-punch is? _

“It’s usually Levi’s turn to make breakfast today,” Mammon says to me as we come up to a wooden door with about seven locks on it, all of which have been undone. “But he’s always sleepin’ in and forgettin’, so we’ve just gotten used to fixin’ something to eat for ourselves.”

“What sort of things do you eat down here?” I ask as he swings the door open. “I’m guessing you don’t have cereal.”

“The hell is  _ that?”  _ is Mammon’s reply.

In any other case, I would have been pretty disturbed by someone not knowing what cereal is, but considering we’re in what’s basically Hell and that Lucifer has already proved that demons don’t even know what photosynthesis is, I’m not nearly as surprised as I should be. “It’s, uh… you know, I don’t actually know how to describe it. It’s a human breakfast food… oh, good morning!”

That last exclamation is directed at Satan, who I hadn’t noticed sitting by the table in the middle of the kitchen. He raises his eyebrows and waves in a good-natured sort of way, setting down the book in his hands.

“Good morning to you as well,” He says with a polite smile, then pauses. “Ah, now that you’re up, I have something for you…”

“Huh?” I frown slightly in confusion and approach the table as Satan rummages through his pocket for a moment, then finally pulls something out.

“Your D.D.D.,” He says by way of explanation, sliding it across the table like a bartender would a shot of vodka and indicating for me to take it. “You left it in the assembly hall yesterday.”

“I did? Oh, right…” I fumble for a moment as the D.D.D. almost slips off the table under my touch, then hurriedly scoop it up and shove it into one of my blazer’s many pockets. “Thanks, Mr Satan.”

“You’re welcome,” He smiles again, then indicates to the many cupboards around the kitchen with a single hand. “Well, help yourself to breakfast. You don’t want to run through your first day at the R.A.D. on an empty stomach.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t usually eat breakfast, to be honest…” I admit, pulling awkwardly on a stray thread on my blazer sleeve. “Normally I just have some tea… or coffee on school days. Just to stay awake.”

“Well, what sorta things do ya like eatin’?” Mammon asks. I turn to see him eating from what appears to be a bag of shrivelled mushrooms. He seems to notice my confusion quickly. “What're ya looking at me like that for? You never seen dried deathcaps before?”

“Uh, no...” I trail off and blanche slightly as Mammon grabs an entire handful of mushrooms and drops them all into his mouth. They crunch between his teeth in a way that reminds me of breaking bones. “Deathcaps sound kinda inedible by human standards.”

“Pft,” He scoffs in reply, wiping his mouth roughly with his sleeve and dropping the now three quarters empty bag back on the counter. “What, you gonna die if ya eat one? Humans are so sensitive.”

“Actually, probably, yeah,” I say after a moment of thought. “I’ve never tried it, personally, but I read somewhere that even touching some species of mushroom is dangerous.”

“Really?” asks Satan, sounding mildly intrigued. “Do you know what those species were called? There might be some more information about them in some of the books in the library.”

“No, but I’m pretty sure the touching is only actually deadly if you, I don't know, touch your mouth afterwards without washing them,” I explain with a shrug, moving my arms behind my back and beginning to tap the fingers of my right hand restlessly against my left palm. "Mushrooms are poisonous, not venomous. And I don’t think most toxins can get through your skin anyway."

"What, there's a difference?" Mammon asks. "Between poisonous and venomous, I mean."

Satan turns and sends him a withering look. "Of course there's a difference, idiot. Venomous means it kills you if it gets into your blood - poisonous means it kills you if you ingest it."

"Basically, if you bite it and you die, it's poison," I chime in when Mammon just pulls an even more confused face in reply to Satan's explanation. "Whereas if it bites you and  _ you _ die, it's venomous."

"Oh," he says, clarity forming across his face. Then his expression drops again, and he asks, "So what is it if it bites ya and  _ it _ dies?"

"Then you're the poisonous one, obviously," Satan replies, his own face pulling into one of unimpressed derision. "Are you just unable to use basic logic, Mammon?"

"And if you bite it and it dies, then you're venomous," I quickly jump in with some more facts before Mammon can climb over the table and start attempting to fist fight Satan, which he's beginning to look close to doing. "Or you've given them an infection… or just injured it. Oh, and if it tells you that you've changed and that it thinks the two of you should take a break from each other, then you're toxic."

"The hell are you goin' on about now?" Mammon scoffs, but at least he doesn't look like he's about to commit assault anymore. After a moment, he spins around and swings open the massive fridge sitting beside one of the counters - the one that looks like it could store about five human bodies at once, not the slightly smaller one beside it.  _ Two fridges in one kitchen… these guys really are living a life of luxury.  _ “Well, whatever. You sure you don’t want anything right now?”

I think for a moment, then answer, “Uh, something to drink, I guess?”

“Sure,” He says, beginning to rummage about. After a series of clinking, scrambling, and what sounds suspiciously like something smashing, he finally emerges with what looks like a bottle of juice.

I fumble for a moment to catch it as he throws it nonchalantly over his shoulder, then hold it up to look at. “What is it?”

“What does it look like?” He responds, pulling a tinted container of some kind out of the fridge and then bumping the door closed with his hip. “It’s a drink.”

The bottle is unlabelled and made of some kind of black glass, with a pretty little golden cap screwed on top. I pause for a moment, then think,  _ hey, what’s the worst that can happen?  _ and carefully twist it off. 

There aren’t any immediate explosions or poisonous gases released into the room, but, keeping in mind what Mammon’s just eaten, I still don’t trust the drink not to have some kind of hidden deadly element to it. I raise the brim of the bottle to my nose and give it a hesitant sniff. There isn’t a scent that causes any immediate alarm, but at the same time, most drinks smell of something or another, and somehow I doubt that this is a simple bottle of water.

“Hey, Mr Mammon,” I say, pulling the bottle away from my face and swirling its contents around a little. “What exactly is this?”

_ “ _ Cyanide Crush,” Mammon grunts back, struggling to pry the lid off of the container he’s retrieved from the fridge. “It’s one of Levi’s, actually, but he probably won’t mind if ya just have one.”

I immediately recap the bottle, set it down on the table, and push it away from me. Mammon looks up from his box at the clink of the glass against the wood, then scowls at me. “What’s your problem? Too good for it, are ya?”

I look at him, then back down at the drink sitting innocently on the table, unsure of how to explain that he’s essentially just handed me death in a bottle. Sure, it’s a tempting offer, but I kind of want to explore this new world a bit more before I die, and it probably wouldn’t be a very dignified death, either. Luckily, I’m spared from coming up with a tactful way to say that Mammon’s just given me a surefire way to off myself when Satan steps in, 

“Cyanide is poisonous to humans, Mammon,” He says slowly, enunciating each syllable with great emphasis, as if he thinks Mammon won’t understand him otherwise. “She’s going to die if she drinks that.”

“...oh.”

“Yeah,  _ oh,”  _ Satan shoots back, shaking his head as he reaches across the table to grab the bottle. He pauses and looks at it for a moment, a tiny smirk spreading on his face. Then he reels back his hand and flings it directly at Mammon.

I yelp and duck behind the table as Mammon immediately whacks the bottle with his hand with all the strength of an all-star baseball player, sending it flying across the room. It hits the wall at such velocity that it immediately shatters into what looks like about a million little pieces, sending its contents spilling across the floor.

All three of us stare at it in silence. 

“...I’m not cleaning that up.” Satan says finally. Then he gets up and legs it out of the door.

“Oi!” Mammon barks after him, hands flying to his hips as he storms to the doorway and sticks his head out into the corridor, presumably to yell at Satan’s rapidly retreating back. “Get back here! You’re the one who threw the damn thing!”

I subtly skitter backwards as the cyanide juice starts getting dangerously close to the tips of my only good pair of shoes. Mammon yells one final, indiscernible insult, then pulls his head back into the kitchen, turning to see me rooted to the spot in the corner like a terrified rabbit as the cyanide puddle grows ever closer.

“The hell are you doing?” he asks. “It’s not gonna kill ya if ya step in it.”

“I don’t want to ruin my shoes,” I reply, shuffling as far back into the corner as I can physically get myself. The cyanide juice puddle is beginning to bubble threateningly. “Dad spent his entire month’s savings on them. Also, I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to let cyanide touch your skin.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” He sighs, then strides over, ignoring the puddle completely, grabs me by the arms and easily hoists me up, then turns and sets me down on the table. I blink and lean over to look down at the still-growing puddle, feeling tall for the very first time since I’ve appeared down here.

“Stay there, ya little troublemaker,” Mammon tells me, then turns and yanks what looks like a large tea towel off of a clothes line of some kind that’s been rigged across the room. I swing my legs back and forth restlessly as he carelessly dumps the towel on the puddle, then starts pushing it back and forth with the tip of his foot.

“Do people just drink poison on the regular down here?” I ask after a moment as Mammon picks up the now sopping wet tea towel and dumps it in the sink. 

“Depends what ya definition of poison is,” is his nonchalant reply as he quickly rinses off his hands, then dries them on the hem of his blazer. “But if you’re just talkin’ about the cyanide, then yeah. It’s a pretty big favourite, actually. Hey - you need help gettin’ down from there?”

I pause and look down over the edge of the table again. My feet are nowhere near the ground, but it doesn’t look like I’m high up enough that I’d immediately shatter my fibulas if I jumped down. “Uh… I don’t think so.”

“Don’t  _ think _ —” Mammon begins, but before he can finish, I push myself off the edge of the table. “Hey!”

I forget to bend my knees properly, so an unnervingly sharp jolt immediately runs up my legs and through my entire body as I land. Fortunately, though, I don’t seem to have broken any bones, so I quickly shake out my limbs and send Mammon a thumbs up. 

He shakes his head and lets out another worldly-weary sigh. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Sorry,” I say, not particularly sorry. After a moment, I glance over at the clock on the wall and ask, “Hey, when does the R.A.D. have registration?”

“Registration?” Mammon follows my gaze to the clock. It takes him a while to put two and two together, but he does get it eventually. “What, ya mean class? It’s not for a good hour and a half. Lucifer just wanted ya up early to get your uniform and schedule and stuff sorted. Ya still have time for some breakfast if you're hungry.” 

_ You know, it’s pretty weird that this entire other realm uses the exact same time system as the human world,  _ I think to myself as I nod in response to Mammon’s clarification. “Not really… can we start heading there now, then?”

He shrugs. “I don’t have anythin’ to do right now - too damn early. If ya wanna go now, then we’ll go.”

He starts walking out before he’s even finished talking. I quickly shake out the rapidly developing cramp in my ankles and scurry after him. I notice after a moment that the laces on one of my shoes have come loose, but I can’t afford to stop and tie it up - to be honest, these crappy pound store laces that I bought two years ago because they looked cool come undone every five minutes, so I’ve just gotten used to running and walking with them trailing behind like little tails.

“Do I need a bag?” I ask after a minute or so of silent walking. The hallways of the House of Lamentation are void of people, but I’m not too surprised - considering how big it is, I feel like I’d be more confused if we did manage to run into one of the other inhabitants on our way out. “For books and stuff.”

Mammon glances down at me. He’s walking with his hands linked casually behind his head in a way that I’ve only ever seen anime characters walk, but for some reason it doesn’t look nearly as unnatural as I’d have thought it’d look on someone in real life. “I mean, if ya want one, sure. You get your own locker and stuff, though, so you can just keep your stuff in there like most of us do.”

I consider it for a moment. “... the R.A.D.’s massive, though. Do you just run back and forth from your locker to your lessons every day? Seems like a bit of an ordeal.”

“Yeah, that’s why Satan, Lucifer, and Asmo all bring bags,” He answers. “I don’t bother, though. I’d just forget it, ya know?”

“I guess,” I mumble in reply as we cross the threshold of the front door and start walking down the path to the gate. “Oh, and where do I get stationary and stuff? Pencils, pens, all that…”

Mammon shrugs. “If ya go to Satan after school he’ll probably let ya tag along with him into town. He’s always buyin’ new pens - collects ‘em like rocks. He might even let you borrow a couple of the cheaper ones if ya ask really nicely.”

I go quiet again as we walk, thinking very hard over the many school-related questions beginning to spin through my head. I don’t to start talking Mammon’s ears off with them and annoy him, though, so I decide to pull a Sherlock Holmes and see if I can deduce the answers instead.

_ Well, looking at the way Mammon’s uniform is, and considering what Leviathan’s looked like yesterday, it doesn’t seem like the dress code is too strict. Lucifer was wearing some kind of turtleneck under his blazer, and I’m pretty sure Satan was wearing a bow tie… so it seems like you get some freedom with how you accessorise. Alright, that seems simple enough. What about hallway conduct, then? Do we have to all walk on one side of the corridor at all times down here as well? I guess I could just wait until we actually get into school and see what everyone else there does, though, so I probably don’t need to actually ask about that. _

_ Do we get homework diaries? If we don’t, do the stationary stores down here sell them? What are the rules about missed deadlines and detentions? What does detention even entail down here? Do you, like, get strung up by the ankles and tortured? No, no, just because they’re demons doesn’t mean they’re barbarians, don’t make assumptions… _

I stay in this vein of thought for a while, eyes fixed on the ground in front of me. Mammon glances down at me at regular intervals, as if checking to make sure I haven’t somehow fallen into a pit or gotten lost already.

I’m in the middle of a tournament-style face-off between questions in my head to determine the one that takes priority when I’m mercifully saved from having to make a decision (and breaking the comfortable silence) by the ding of a notification from the D.D.D. in my pocket.

I quickly pull it out and and turn it on. Mammon leans over to have a look (which technically qualifies as hacking since he did it without my consent, and thus I could totally sue him for it), then asks, “What’s Lucifer textin’ you for?”

“Beats me,” I reply, pressing my thumb to the home button and unlocking the device. I pause, then ignore the little red one staring up at me from the Messages app icon in favour of quickly tapping on the little Settings button in the corner, then on ‘Account’. Mammon loses interest in watching me mess with the profile data quickly, which is just as well, since I’d feel kind of awkward putting in my newly chosen username in front of him.

Satisfied with my new virtual identity, I close Settings and finally move to the Messages app. Lucifer’s name is handily highlighted in pink above his incoming message to let me know that its unread, and a quick glance down reveals that I’ve also been messaged by Beelzebub and Diavolo, with both texts timestamped to around five hours ago. I make a mental note to reply to them once I’ve seen what Lucifer’s messaging me about - from what I can tell from my limited interaction with him, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who messages people just to have a chat.

* * *

**Lucifer:**

Good morning. Have you arrived at the R.A.D. yet?

**bread man:**

not yet

**bread man:**

should be there soon though

**Lucifer:**

Good.

**Lucifer:**

I see that you’ve taken the liberty of changing your account name.

**Lucifer:**

Is there any reason behind it, if I may ask?

**bread man:**

because i like piano man by billy joel and i also like bread

**Lucifer:**

...I see. 

**Lucifer:**

Well, onto what I was messaging you about. It has come to my attention that we haven’t gotten around to giving you an uniform. We did originally have several prepared, but it’s become clear that they wouldn’t fit you…

**bread man:**

sorry about that

**Lucifer:**

You don’t need to apologise. It couldn’t have been helped.

**bread man:**

right sorry

**Lucifer:**

I just said you didn’t need to apologise.

**bread man:**

sorry

**bread man:**

wait no i mean

**bread man:**

uh

**bread man:**

you know what i’ll just stop talking

**Lucifer:**

That would be wise.

**Lucifer:**

Well, in any case, we still need to get you fitted for a uniform. I’ve already asked Asmo to help you with that. He should be waiting somewhere in the entrance hall for you by the time you arrive.

**bread man:**

got it

**Lucifer:**

And since we’re still here, I might as well ask…

**Lucifer:**

Have there been any problems with settling in so far? Or has Mammon given you any trouble?

**bread man:**

no problems right now

**bread man:**

it’s just that everything’s so BIG

**bread man:**

and mr mammon hasn’t given me any trouble, he’s been lovely 

**Lucifer:**

You can just call him Mammon. 

**Lucifer:**

And I do not think that ‘lovely’ would be the word to describe him.

**bread man:**

i mean he hasn't threatened me with battery or assault yet and that’s a ten out of ten in my books

**Lucifer:**

Hmm. 

**Lucifer:**

Well, as long as you don’t have anything against him, I can’t say much about it. 

**Lucifer:**

Good luck with your first day. I’ll see you at the R.A.D.   
  


* * *

Conversation notwithstanding, I lock my D.D.D. and put it back into my pocket. Mammon and I have managed to walk a fair distance while I was talking to Lucifer, judging by how close the R.A.D. now looks, which is definitely a feat in and of itself - at this point I probably should have gotten lost or left behind already. 

“Mr Lucifer isn’t one for small talk, is he?” I comment. Mammon starts slightly, as if he’d forgotten that I was following him.

“Nah,” He answers at last, his voice a little hesitant, as if afraid that Lucifer will appear behind him like some sort of punishing spectre if he says a word about him. “Can’t hold a conversation to save his life.”

“Really?” I wrinkle my nose slightly, remembering how authoritative he’d been back in the assembly hall. “He seems like the kind of guy who, I don’t know… commands the attention? Doesn’t really strike me as the awkward type.”

“Well, ya only met him yesterday,” Mammon says dismissively. “Besides, I wasn’t sayin’ he was awkward. I was sayin’ that he’s bad at sayin’ interestin’ things.”

“For example?” I prompt. 

He snorts. “Just listen to his conversations with Diavolo. He’s never got anythin’ to say - Diavolo does all the talkin’.”

“Well, I don’t doubt that,” I mumble. I may not have even known him for twenty four hours yet, but I’m already fully aware that Diavolo isn’t exactly shy when it comes to conversation. He’s more enthusiastic than a toddler doing arts and crafts.

The entranceway into the R.A.D.’s main building is already bustling by the time Mammon and I reach it. I shrink back a little, and I’m in the middle of wondering whether I’d get into trouble if I just turned tail and ran away when Mammon goes marching forward with all the bravado of a man who has nothing to fear.

I hurry to catch up with him as he pushes his way through a clump of chattering students, but it’s too late - by the time I’ve managed to navigate my way around them, dodging several bags that just so happen to be right at my face’s level along the way, Mammon has disappeared. I spin around on the spot in a panic, attempting to spot his characteristic white hair among the crowd, but it’s fruitless - the sea of students beginning to swell and file through the main door is so large that I wouldn’t be able to pick him out from everyone else even if I did somehow spot him for a moment.

_ Oh, this is bad. This is bad.  _ I determinedly raise a fist and knock my knuckles into the side of my head as I feel a familiar tightening in my chest. I absolutely  _ refuse  _ to have a panic attack in the middle of so many demons twice my size who I’ve already been informed I am in direct competition with for my own soul. 

My D.D.D. buzzes in my pocket, and I dig it out with slightly trembling fingers. A brief flicker of relief sparks in my chest when I see the contact name, but it immediately disappears as I read the message, replaced by something resembling disappointment. ****

* * *

**Mammon:**

Yo, I just remembered I got something to care of. You can manage on your own, right?

**Mammon:**

Just text Lucifer or someone if ya need something.

**Mammon:**

But don’t tell him I left you or anythin’, got it?

**bread man:**

mr mammon if you didn’t want to have to babysit me you could have just said so

**Mammon:**

I never said that!

**bread man:**

yes but i’m right aren't i

**Mammon:**

_ [...] _

**Mammon:**

I don’t have to answer to you!

**Mammon:**

Lucifer just told me to make sure ya got into school, so I’ve done my job. That’s it.

**bread man:**

have you really though

**Mammon:**

Don’t talk to me like that!

**Mammon:**

Just because you’re some human exchange student doesn’t mean you can treat me however you like. You’re pathetic compared to me, hear that? Pathetic!

**Mammon:**

So don’t go around thinkin’ you’re the boss of me!

**bread man:**

whoa

**bread man:**

i mean you’re right but that was a bit harsh 

**Mammon:**

_ [...] _

**Mammon:**

Look, just keep your nose clean and stay outta trouble, got it? I ain’t takin’ any responsibility if ya get killed. 

**Mammon:**

You’re on your own now, kid. 

* * *

I look at his final message for a long moment before pressing my thumb firmly down on the power button. Something that resembles a frown tugs at my face. I’m well aware that Mammon made it clear yesterday that he doesn’t want anything to do with me and that, had he had his way, he probablly would have just robbed me blind and then left me to my devices, but I really thought we’d bonded over the whole cyanide thing this morning.  _ Guess I should really stop immediately getting attached to anyone who’s nice to me. _

_ Still, I don’t really blame him. And it’s not like he has an obligation to take care of me or anything.  _

I huff out a breath through my nose and place my D.D.D. back in my pocket. That reminds me of something - I’m supposed to meet Asmodeus to get a proper uniform. Now that I think about it, I’m actually a little excited about it. The R.A.D.’s uniform is downright  _ snazzy _ , and hopefully I’ll stop getting so many looks for my out-of-place outfit once I get one. Sure, most of the looks are probably just for the fact that I’m a human (and that I’m about half the size of everyone else down here thus far), but at least I’d kind of feel like I actually fit in, right? 

I stop mid-step.  _ Oh, that got kind of deep. I don’t like that at all.  _

“Yo, midget,” I jump as a voice abruptly breaks me out of my train of thought. “You might wanna get moving. Traffic’s going to get pretty bad soon.”

My first thought is that this new voice sounds eerily similar to my History teacher’s. My second thought, as I turn around and reflexively look up, is that the demon behind the voice looks exactly the way I’d imagine a bottle of champagne would if it was a person. 

“O-oh, sorry!” I hurriedly jump to apologise when he raises an eyebrow at me, only now realising that I’ve been standing bang in the middle of the entranceway for about five minutes. It’s a wonder no annoyed demons have attempted to eat me already - if I’d pulled something like this back up at my school in the real world, I’d have been bullied to hell and back.

“Hey, don’t give yourself an injury, now,” He says in good-natured kind of fashion as I almost trip over my still-trailing laces in an effort to skedaddle as quickly as possible. “Can’t run from a demon on a sprained ankle.”

I narrow my eyes and turn to him. “Is that a threat?”

He opens his mouth to respond, hands already raised in the air as if in apology, but before he can, my expression shifts. My tone serious and flat, I state, “If so, please do it. I don’t want to be on this mortal plane any longer.”

He stares at me for a moment, then lets out a single ‘ha!’ of laughter. Shaking his head, he folds his arms and shoots an amused look down at me. “I can’t just eat you right here. The amount of trouble I’d get into is unimaginable.”

“Oh,” I say in a disappointed fashion, my face falling back into its usual state. “Too bad.”

“Too bad indeed,” He echoes, flashing me a grin that reveals a single, pointed canine. “But I can’t exactly kill the human transfer right at the beginning of the year, can I? Lucifer would smite me on the spot.”

I tilt my head to the side slightly and ask, “What about after a month or something, then?”

He laughs again. “I’ll consider it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He raises his head and looks at something some distance away, then back down at me. “By the way, I think that’s Asmodeus waiting for you over there.”

“He is?” I crane my neck, but am predictably unable to see over the sea of heads around me. 

“Just outside the doors,” He clarifies, adjusting his position to set one hand on his hip. “You might wanna speed it up a bit. Asmodeus isn’t the most patient of guys.”

“Got it,” I nod quickly, going up on my tiptoes briefly as if that’ll help me see wherever Asmodeus is, then deciding that that’s a stupid idea and dropping back down. Champagne Bottle Man could very well be lying to me to mess with me right now, but to be honest, I’m all out of other options. “Um, thank you!”

I start taking off into the crowd before the demon has time to respond, which I know is a little rude, but I really don’t want to stay in the middle of this crowd any longer than I have to. Besides, now that I have the (possibly false) reassurance that someone I can recognise is close by, I’m absolutely willing to scurry my way through the crowd like a mouse through a maze so that I won't have to just stand around on my own.

Luckily for me, Champagne Bottle Man hadn’t been lying; Asmodeus, sure enough, is leaning against the wall beside the entrance doorway, fiddling about with his D.D.D. with one hand and restlessly finger-combing his hair with the other. I note with approval that his D.D.D. has a little cat charm dangling from it. 

Somehow he notices my approach before I even have time to call out to him - which is just as well, since I’d been having trouble hyping myself up to do it - and immeditely offers me a wide smile as he locks his D.D.D. and slips it into what looks like a specially-fitted pocket in his pink messenger bag. 

“Morning!” is his cheerful greeting as I skid to a stop, almost tripping over my laces again.  _ I really should tie those up properly. _

“G’morning,” I reply with much less energy, offering him a short wave. 

“Hey, no need to sound so down,” He pouts, pushing off the wall and setting his hands on his hips. A moment later, he looks down at me and cocks his head to the side. “Did you have a rough night? You look a little ruffled.”

_ Well, I guess you could call accidentally falling asleep on the floor a rough night… but I actually feel more refreshed than I usually do after sleeping right now.  _ “Not really… just had a bit of a panic, I guess.”

“Oh?” He indicates for me to follow him as he begins walking into the building. “Why?”

I kick at the ground a little grumpily, frowning at the very memory. “Mr Mammon ran off and left me in the middle of the crowd when we got here.”

Asmodeus clicks his tongue in sympathy and shakes his head. “Typical Mammon. Don’t mind him. He’s never been able to think of anyone but himself.”

“I won’t,” I say, then realise that I probably need to elaborate, and add, “Mind him, I mean.”

“Attagirl,” He coos, turning to offer me a smile. “Take no nonsense and you’ll get along down here just fine.”

“Thanks, Mr Asmodeus.”

He clicks his tongue in disapproval and reaches down to give me a reproachful poke in the shoulder. “Don’t call me that! Asmo’s fine. ‘Mr Asmodeus’ makes me feel old.”

I resist the urge to point out that he probably  _ is _ extremely old by human standards and mumble an affirmative. I’m mostly likely not going to actually listen to him - something about addressing figures of authority by a nickname just doesn’t sit right with me. It’s probably all the trauma I’ve managed to obtain throughout my experience with school faculty, but either way I’m not going to start calling him Asmo.  _ Maybe Mr Asmo. Yeah, that works. _

We make a turn down an unfamiliar corridor at one of the junctions, one where the polished grey bricks of the floor and the carved stone of the wall slowly fade into a plush red carpet patterned with what look like black vines and golden wallpaper edged with dark blue. I look around in fascination, slightly jarred by the sudden change in interior decorating style. I’m not entirely sure whether the clash of the red-and-black and gold-and-blue is awful or revolutionary. The longer I look at it, the more unsure I am about how to feel about it - and the more I notice that its aeshetic feels familiar.

I realise where the familiarity comes from when I see a portrait of a distinctive golden-eyed face hanging along the wall. This  _ entire _ corridor’s colour palette has been taken straight from Diavolo’s ball-gown of a uniform - the red of the main material plus the black of his shirt and mini shoulder cape, and the dark blue of the little medal ribbon (whatever you call it) plus the gold of his buttons and belt buckle… 

“Hey, Mr Asmo,” I begin, trying to sound as casual as possible. “By any chance, did Mr— I mean,  _ Lord _ Diavolo choose the design for this hallway?”

His eyes widen slightly as he looks back at me. After a moment, he responds, “Yes, actually. This corridor got kind of wrecked during a big fight a while back, so he got to choose what the renovated version would look like. How did you know?”

I glance back at the portrait on the wall. “...just a hunch.”

The two of us walk in silence for several paces before finally reaching what appears to be our destination. Asmodeus pauses to flip the sign hanging from the doorknob around, then pushes the door open and ushers me in.

I obey and quickly scurry into the room, then stop short in my tracks. If the gold-blue-red-black of the corridors I’ve just passed was a jarring colour palette, this room’s entire design is nothing less than… well, it’s not  _ less than  _ anything. Quite the contrary - it’s too much of everything _.  _ Ten different shades of lanterns dangling from a ceiling both carved into swirling gold patterns and painted with vaguely humanoid shapes, a thick, velvety carpet with what looks like the entire colour spectrum splashed all over it, flickering candles made of wax so brightly coloured that they look almost neon hung from brackets dangerously close to the bouqets of flowers decorating the walls… the nicest way to describe it would be ‘creative’. 

“Oh,” I say plainly as Asmodeus skips in after me and makes a beeline for several boxes lined up beside one of the enormous oaken tables. “Um… nice room?”

“Aw, thank you, darling, but this wasn’t my design,” He says brightly, bending over and beginning to dig what looks like a miniature version of the long dress-blazer that I’ve come to recognise is R.A.D.’s uniform from one of the boxes. “Diavolo thought it would be fun to make a room based on separate votes for each part - one for the wallpaper, one for the wall decor, one for the carpet colour, one for the carpet pattern, that sort of thing - and this is what we ended up with. I just chose the flowers.”

“Explains a lot,” I mumble as I glance up at the ceiling.  _ Is that… a naked man?  _ “Well, I do quite like the flowers as well. They’re really pretty.”

“You think so?” I turn to see Asmodeus pop up from the boxes with an armful of clothing and a grin on his face. “You’re too sweet! It was nothing, really…”

He walks over to the table at the centre of the room and carefully sets the pile of clothing down on it, then turns and gestures for me to come closer. “...but, anyway, we need to get you a uniform first. We can always talk flowers later, hmm?”

“Sounds good,” I nod, though I’m pretty sure that his words are more of a polite rhetoric than an actual invitation. “Do I need to get measured or anything? Because, um, I’m not very about that.”

“Oh, don’t worry!” Asmodeus shakes his head and reaches down to briefly chuck me under the chin. I freeze slightly at the sudden and unfamiliar contact. “I know plenty about resizing with spells, so you just need to put them on and look pretty. Then I’ll just adjust them for you - is that okay?”

I catch the teal shirt he deftly throws my way and hold it up in front of me. While it’s certainly smaller than the general size of the shirts that the demons are wearing, I can tell just by looking at it that it’s definitely at least four sizes too big.  _ That’s just how I like my clothes, to be honest. I’m happy with this.  _ “That’s fine, Mr Asmo.”

“Then we’re golden,” He concludes cheerily, slinging the miniature blazer over his arm and ushering me closer. “Here - would you prefer a skirt or trousers? The standard uniform for everyone is trousers, but you’re allowed a skirt if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Um…” I assess my options briefly. On the one hand, pants are comfier and give you more movement, but on the other, a skirt would hide my thighs. And there’s no guarantee that the R.A.D.’s uniform’s pants would actually be comfortable, especially looking at how tightly they fit onto everyone I’ve seen so far, and I absolutely refuse to wear trousers that go that close to my skin. Besides, I’m kind of used to wearing a skirt for uniform, anyway. “... skirt, please.”

“Skirt coming right up!” Asmodeus sings, sorting through the pile of clothing and pulling out just that. I blanche slightly at the sight of it, and he pauses. “What’s wrong?”

“O-oh, it’s just, well…” I avoid his gaze, feeling a sudden wave of awkwardness hit me like a dumpster truck. “It’s kinda… short.”

“Is it?” Asmodeus looks genuinely confused. He shakes the skirt out and holds it up in front of his face, inspecting it with a critical eye. While he may not think so, however, I can tell just by looking at the length-to-width ratio that it most certainly will not reach my knees, and the only reason I picked a skirt over trousers was to  _ hide  _ my upper legs. 

“Um, yeah,” I grimace slightly as Asmodeus bends down and holds the skirt in front of me. My initial hypothesis was entirely correct. It’s probably a fashionable length, but it isn’t a comfortable one for me. “Not really my style, I guess.”

For a moment I expect Asmodeus to dismiss my complaint and tell me to put it on anyway, but then he nods his head so vigorously that his fancy fringe looks as if it’s going to go flying right off his head. “Oh, you should have said so sooner! I’ll adjust it for you right away, don’t you fret!”

He flicks the skirt’s folds out and tells me to hold it up around my waist. I oblige, trying not to feel stupid as Asmodeus measures out the distance between the hem of the R.A.D. skirt and the hem of my own uniform skirt with two fingers, then murmurs something about excess length under his breath, clicking his tongue agitatedly as he seems to think very hard about something. 

“You okay, Mr Asmo?” I ask as he lets out a defeated sigh. 

“I’m a little rusty with my measuring,” He mutters with a thoughtful pout, pulling back and frowning at the skirt in his hands. “So I might end up messing up the length a bit.”

“That’s fine.” I tell him as he closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, his honey-coloured eyes are glowing a soft rose gold. “Oh, uh…?”

“Spells like this are super fiddly,” He says, tilting his head from side to side as the glow spreads from his eyes and runs down his arms to his perfectly-painted nails. “Fibres are hard to manipulate… especially when they’re as stiff as these ones. I keep telling Diavolo that we should use softer materials for these uniforms, but he never listens…”

He hums a jaunty tune under his breath as glimmering tendrils of the light start snaking down the skirt, multiplying in number and weaving together. I blink and rub my eyes as the light intensifies, and by the time I pull my hands away from my face, the skirt has lengthened at least two inches. 

Asmodeus fluffs it out with a flourish and holds it out to me with a smile. “Ta-da! How’s that, then, darling?”

I allow Asmodeus to press the skirt enthusiastically into my hands, then lift it up to give it a look-over. It seems that Asmodeus has done more than lengthen it - he’s added some pleats (for flavour, obviously), as well as subtle sort of braided belt around its waistline. “It looks great, Mr Asmo, thanks!”

“No problem!” He chirps, pressing the blazer into my hands as well. “Here, here. There’s a screen just over there - go ahead and get changed.”

I oblingingly gather the host of clothing items he’s given me in my arms and scurry over to the screen he’s indicated, which is decorated with a series of little cartoon characters and probably big enough to cover an entire average-sized human-world bedroom if laid down flat. I wave a hand about behind the stretched-out material experimentally, but it seems that the fabric it’s made from is robust; even though there’s a lamp directly behind it, no shadow comes through.

“That screen’s made from triple-layered Hellion fibres,” Asmodeus’s voice comes matter-of-factly from behind me. I stop in my tracks, my hand still hovering awkwardly in mid-air. “So you don’t need to worry about your shadow coming through. I’m facing the wall, too - see?”

I hesitate for a moment, then do as he says and turn around. Asmodeus is indeed firmly stood with his back to me, and though I can’t see his face, the angle of the back of his head is enough to tell me that his eyes are fixed on the wall; he’s so close to it that his nose is practically touching the fancy wallpaper. Even as I watch, he raises a hand and shoots me a peace sign over his shoulder. 

“I figured you might be a little uncomfy changing in here,” He says, his voice taking on a sympathetic tone as he drops his hands and folds them behind his back, “But I didn’t wanna risk taking you to one of the big changing rooms, either… demons can be scary, you know? So I asked Diavolo to lend us this screen, just for once.”

I blink at the back of his head blankly. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. “...thank you, Mr Asmo.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, darling!” He says with an airy laugh, swinging back and forth on his heels. “Come on, now, go try it on! You don’t want to end up late for your first class, do you?”

I nod and hurriedly duck behind the screen. There’s already a chair standing behind it, so I dump my armful of clothes on it, then start tugging off my blazer.

Even before I’ve gotten the whole thing on, I can tell that nearly the entire ensemble is  _ several  _ sizes too big. I’ve kept on the black tights from my school back home, since Asmodeus didn’t give me any new ones, which of course fit just fine, but the shirt is so large that it balloons up to look like a muffin-top when tucked into the skirt - the only piece of clothing I’ve been given that actually kind of fits me, which I’m guessing is owing to the fact that it had probably been easier to size it when his subject was standing right in front of him. Apart from that, the asymmetric design of the jacket-blazer also means that there’s more fabric on one side than the other, which, combined with the fact that the shoulders are several inches too large to fit me, means that the whole thing keeps drooping to one side and threatening to slip right off. 

I struggle with the complicated button design for a moment, then give up and just leave the blazer hanging as is. Asmodeus perks up slightly as I hesitantly creep out from behind the screen and, being careful not to look around, asks, “Are you done?”

“Um…” I glance down at myself. At best, I look like a toddler who’s just raided their dad’s wardrobe. “Yeah. But, uh, it’s kinda… big.”

“Oh, I figured it would be,” He replies cheerfully, and turns around. He pauses for a moment, and though he’s making a valiant effort not to show it, I can tell he’s holding back a giggle.

“You can laugh if you like, Mr Asmo,” I tell him plainly. Normally I’m not particularly fond of being laughed at (most of the time it reduces me to tears), but Asmodeus doesn’t seem to be amused in a malicious way, and I’m fully aware that I look kind of stupid right now.

He does inadvertently let a tiny ‘ _ heh!’  _ slip out of pure surprise, but he quickly covers it up with a smile and cough. “Why would I laugh at you, darling? Come here, come here, let’s get it all fitted.”

I obligingly shuffle up to him, taking care not to let the clothes I’m wearing fall off as I go. Asmodeus indicates for me to take off the blazer, so I do so, leaving me standing awkwardly in just the giant shirt and skirt. 

“Now let’s see here,” He mutters thoughtfully, moving around me to have a closer look at the back of the shirt. He pinches at the fabric around my shoulders, then clicks his tongue. “We really overestimated this... we’re almost five entire sizes off.”

“That’s a lot of sizes,” I comment awkwardly, unsure of what exactly to say. Asmodeus huffs in amusement, his eyes already beginning to take on the same rose gold glow as before. He gently touches a hand to my right shoulder, pinching at the bottom of the shirt with the other.

“Well, this should be easy enough...” He comments, mostly to himself. I shiver slighly as I feel the fabric of the shirt tense and then tighten against my shoulders. “...yep, there we go! How does that feel?”

I hesitantly raise my arms and flap them slightly. The shirt is just large enough that it’s still loose enough to be comfortable, but not so big that it looks like an entire mushroom when tucked into the skirt, and it has an almost weird amount of room for movement for a button-up dress shirt. “...good.”

“You sure?” He asks, absent-mindedly straightening my collar out for me. “I kept it a little bigger because I thought you’d prefer that, but I can alway resize a bit more if you like.”

I shake my head, brushing imaginary dust from my front. “No, you were right. This is how I like it.”

“That’s perfect, then, isn’t it?” He beams, then crouches down slightly. “Alrighty, now for the skirt… actually, come to think of it, that looks pretty good. How does it feel?”

“I think it fits pretty well,” I respond, looking down and patting down the skirt with a hum. “We can probably just leave it.”

“As long as it’s comfy and you like it, then we can do whatever you like with it,” He chimes, chucking me under the chin again and giggling when I make a surprised noise in response.

We spend the next ten or so minutes getting the blazer properly sized. It takes far longer than the shirt did, what with how needlessly complicated the design is, but by the time Asmodeus is finished with it, it fits like a glove. It’s a different design to the one that he and his other brothers are wearing - without the longer bit at the bottom, which works out just fine, since it means that it doesn’t sit too awkwardly over the skirt.

At some point or another (though I’m not sure at what point it came up), I mention that I get cold easily, to which Asmodeus responds by whipping a fancy little black jumper from one of the boxes as well. He then manages to put up with me for long enough to get it to just the right size so that it’s comfortably large but still looks neat once the blazer is put over it - and I must say, though I don’t have a particularly good eye for fashion, even I can tell that Asmodeus has done something pretty cool with my outfit. I actually look semi-good for once. 

“Are there any rules about the uniform?” I ask as he starts fussing about with the red cloth-cape thing attached to my jacket’s left shoulder, apparently unable to decide how to let it sit. “Do we get into trouble if we don’t do the buttons up properly or anything?”

I’m pretty sure I already know the answer considering the state of Mammon’s uniform when I saw him earlier, but at the same time, he doesn’t particularly seem like the kind of guy who follows rules, so I want to check just to be certain. Sure enough, though, Asmodeus shakes his head.

“Diavolo’s actually pretty lax about that kind of thing,” He says, fluffing the cape-thing out and finally leaving it to just hang down my back. It’s really quite a nice addition to the ensemble - it gives the whole outfit that extra  _ pizzazz _ . “He won’t care, but Lucifer might.”

“Oh,” I mumble as he finally finishes whatever it is he’s fiddling about with on the little side arm-cloak-flap and stands back with a flourish. “Guess I’ll have to make sure I stay neat, then.”

“That’s a good attitude to have,” Asmodeus hums. He’s inspecting me with the kind of look on his face that makes me feel like I’m some sort of unfinished painting that he still needs to add the final details to. Finally, he decides, “...we’re missing something.”

“Are we?” I glance down at my clothes, then up at the ones he’s wearing. As far as I can tell, we’re essentially dressed in the same general uniform. After a moment, I realise what he’s talking about. “Like a tie or something, you mean?”

A grin flashes across his face, and he snaps his fingers at me. “That’s it! Here, I’ve got a couple in my bag…”

He searches about in the pockets for a long minute as I hover awkwardly beside him, trying not to watch him too closely. Eventually, he manages to pull out what looks like a small purse, snaps it open, and begins digging out its contents. ‘A couple’ was an understatement - he pulls out a series of ties and ribbons in all manner of colour, from pink to blue to red to yellow, inspecting each one for a moment before tossing it aside in favour of another, then another, then another… it’s a wonder so many of them fit into so small a container.

The one he finally settles on is a subdued shade of dark purple. He holds it up to my collar for a moment as if to compare the colours, then nods approvingly and hands it to me. 

“You know how to tie a tie, right?” He asks as I wrap it around my neck. I nod and begin doing just that. “Great! Then we’re all done here!”

I tuck my tie into the front of my new black jumper and dust down the front, then look over at Asmodeus as he start packing the countless ties he’s produced back into his bag. “Hey, Mr Asmo, when do classes start?”

“Not for another half an hour,” is his answer after a quick glance at the clock on the wall. “You’ll still need to go get your schedule from Lord Diavolo first, though.”

“Do I get a map?” I ask as he gestures me to follow him out of the room. “This school seems pretty ginormous.”

“Barbatos or Lucifer will probably have one if you ask them,” He says thoughtfully. I don’t bother to ask who Barbatos is - I have a feeling I’ll be meeting him soon, anyway. “If not, there’ll probably be someone who knows how to draw up one…”

His expressions scrunches slightly into a frown. “In any case, Mammon was supposed to be the one showing you around. Lucifer’s not going to very happy with him.”

“I don’t really mind,” I quickly say as we round the corner, going back the way we’d come earlier. The corridor is still empty, so I assume the area is prohibited or restricted only to higher-up students or something. “He probably has better things to do. I mean, he never really wanted to be roped into this to begin with, so…”

“You’re giving him too much credit,” Asmodeus shakes his head with a sigh. “Mammon just doesn’t care about anyone except himself - that’s the long and short of it.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case…” I attempt to reason, though even I can hear the uncertainty in my voice. Asmodeus pulls a face and looks down at me.

“Why are you even defending him?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “He basically abandoned you on your first day in a scary new school. Out of any of us right now, you probably have the best reason to be angry at him.”

I pause and think it over. “...good point. But… still, I don’t want to judge him. You never know what someone’s thinking or what’s going on in their life and all that.”

Asmodeus looks at me for long moment. Something unreadable crosses his expression for the briefest of seconds, but then it’s gone. His eyes strangely distant, he looks directly at me and says, “That’s the sort of naivety that gets you killed down here. You should be careful, darling.”

A sudden chill creeps up my back, and I very nearly stop in my tracks. It’s like that moment back when we first met - Asmodeus’s entire countenance seems to shift. It’s subtle, but it’s definitely there, in the twitch of his brows and the shrinking of his pupils; some sort of change in his mood, maybe? I don’t know, and I certainly haven’t been acquainted with him for long enough to deduce any detailed reason for it, but what I do know is that this kind of Asmodeus is  _ dangerous.  _ Lucifer’s warning back in the assembly hall suddenly makes a lot more sense. 

Just like before, though, the edge in Asmodeus’s voice disappears as soon as it had come, and he blinks down at me innocently. “Hey, what’s with the long face? Cheer up! It’s not like I was criticising you or anything…”

He turns his gaze back in front of him and continues walking, giving no indication in his body language that he might be saying anything remotely questionable. “...but you really should watch yourself.”

“...got it…” I mumble half-heartedly, suddenly filled with an odd desire to turn around and make a break for it. Asmodeus himself doesn’t seem to notice, beginning to hum a tune under his breath as he continues to lead me along. As I follow, it strikes me that this feels very much like a case of a predator luring its prey to its death.

I shake off the idea as we emerge from a series of corridors into more of a hall, where several staircases seem to conjoin. I’m just in the middle of wondering whether I’m going to get the old clothes that I changed out of back when I spot a familiar red figure, standing beside one of stairways to the left and chatting enthusiastically with what looks like Lucifer and another demon with a teal streak in his hair.

“That’s Lord Diavolo right there,” Asmodeus announces to me, as if he thinks I might have forgotten who he is, or that I’m unable to distinguish his more than a little conspicuous form. “Just go up to him and he’ll get you set up for the day, okay? I’ll see you around, darling!”

He pats my head, twirls around, and sets off again without another word. I’ve noticed that that’s a bit of a running theme today - I seem to have a bonding moment with one of the demons, but then am disproven by their immediate farewell as soon as they’ve done what they need to do. I guess I can’t exactly blame them, though. I’ve known them for one (1) day, so I can’t expect them to treat me like a friend.  _ Still, if anyone down here’s got me, Diavolo’s probably got me. He gives off too much cool uncle energy to be mean. I think. _

I glance around at the various demons buzzing around the hall - there’s a lot less than there were around the front entrance, thank goodness - and quickly skitter across the floor to where Diavolo is laughing uproariously at some sort of joke, refusing to look anyone in the eye. I very nearly run face first into Diavolo’s pristine uniform in the process, but I manage to catch myself and reel backwards just in time.

“Oh!” Diavolo exclaims in surprise as he turns around and looks down to find me awkwardly waving up at him. A grin quickly replaces his slightly startled expression, and he reaches down to give me a hearty clap on the shoulder that feels like it have broken a bone or two. “You’re here early! I wasn’t expecting you for another ten minutes!”

I don’t even have time to formulate a response before he’s patting my shoulder  _ again,  _ this time apparently in appreciation of my fancy new clothes. “Well, don’t you look dapper! I must say, you look a lot more at home here in uniform.”

“I see that Asmodeus has done his job,” Lucifer puts in, giving me a nod. He glances around briefly, then asks me, looking exasperated, as if he already knows the answer, “I presume Mammon left you?”

“Uh…” I search frantically for some kind of excuse to make for the poor guy, since the look on Lucifer’s face doesn’t exactly promise sunshine and rainbows if I expose him, but I find absolutely nothing. Something tells me it’s better to tell the truth, anyway. “...yeah. Kinda.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrow dangerously, and I hurry to defend the poor guy before his brother can storm off to guillotine him or something. “But it’s okay! He probably had homework to do or something. It’s not a big deal, really.”

He doesn’t look particularly appeased, but he does at least seem rooted to the spot and unlikely to go sprinting off to start dealing out punishment anytime soon. “‘Not a big deal’, you say?”

“Um, no…?” I’m not sure what sort of answer he wants. “I mean, it’s not like he has some kind of duty of care. He did what he was supposed to do and got me to school. Nothing wrong with leaving once you’ve got the job done, right?”

“Why do you insist on defending him?” His borderline glare isn’t very comforting, but I feel like that’s more of a default expression for him than one of displeasure at the moment. Just as I think that, though, his lips curl up into a slight smile. “You seem to have formed some sort of loyalty to him already, despite his treatment of you thus far. Are all you humans like that?”

“Oh, definitely not,” I answer, thinking back briefly to all the horror stories I’ve both heard and read about. “There are some real monsters up there if you look deep enough. Anyway, I wouldn’t be able to say even if I didn’t know about them - you can’t really generalise an entire race as having any characteristic, you know? It’s like how you can’t say that every single cat in the world will have fur, even if a lot of them do.”

I give myself a mental pat on the back for that one as Lucifer raises his eyebrows again, evidently surprised by the rather sophisticated reply I’ve given him. Well, sophisticated by my standards, anyway. I’m really quite proud of having come up with it on the spot - it’s not often I think a good thought, especially in front of an authority figure. It’s not even often that I actually  _ think _ .

Diavolo, at any rate, seems more impressed than his determinedly stoic right-hand-man, giving another loud laugh and patting me on the shoulder again. “You’re certainly a philosophical one, aren’t you?”

“Most of the time I’m really  _ not _ ,” I mumble, but allow him his brief amusement. After a moment, he seems to remember that I’m not acquainted with the demon with him - the one with the fabulous hair streak and the very nicely done eyeliner. 

“Oh, I don’t believe you’ve been introduced yet!” Diavolo exclaims, indicating said demon, who offers me a small smile. “This is Barbatos.”

“I have the honour of serving as Lord Diavolo’s stewart,” Barbatos tells me. He takes his time enunciating each word clearly, and performs a neat bow to accompany it; the whole thing is so polished that I wouldn’t be surprised if he rehearses it in the mirror every day. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Nice to meet you as well, Mr Barbatos.” I reply, returning his bow with a small one of my own. He gives off the sort of aura that just  _ makes _ you want to straighten your back and talk like a Victorian butler. After a pause, wanting to offer at least a bit more conversational substance, I add, “I like your hair.”

He pauses in mild surprise, then chuckles and gives me a smile - one that’s a lot more genuine than the polite one he’d offered while making his introduction. “I appreciate the compliment, but it really isn’t anything special.”

“I think it’s cool. Do you get it dyed or is it natural?”

“It is how my hair naturally is,” He touches a hand to the longer teal lock on the right side of his head. “Though I do deliberately grow out this part.”

I nod along to his explanation. “It’s very stylish.”

He smiles again. “Thank you.”

“I’m sure the two of you won’t have any problems getting along,” Diavolo chimes in. He looks almost like a proud mother watching her child make friends at daycare, though I’m not sure if that child is meant to be me or Barbatos. “Well, now that you two are acquainted - do you know where you’ll be going for your classes?”

I shake my head. “No... Mr Asmo said I needed to get a schedule.”

“Oh, right, of course! I arranged several resources for you earlier...” He fumbles around in his pockets for a moment, then pauses. Defeated, he slowly admits, “...I seem to have misplaced them.”

“Not to worry,” Lucifer shakes his head and reaches into his own pocket, then pulls out several neatly folded pamphlets. “You left them in the assembly hall earlier. Here, IK.”

He holds it out at chest level at first out of reflex, evidently used to giving things to people who are demon-sized. Unfortunately, chest-level for Lucifer is an inch or so above my head, so he fumbles for a brief moment, looking a little lost, before realising where I am and dropping his hand so that I can comfortably reach the papers he’s trying to give me. 

“Thank you,” I chirp, immediately setting about flicking through them. The timetable is conveniently tucked just behind the first paper - which seems to just be a welcome sheet - so I quickly pull it out and scan it. Then I realise that there’s a bit of a problem, and it isn’t the array of subjects that I don’t recognise.  _ What the hell is Monstrous Tongues? _ “...what day is it?”

“It is Wednesday - the 17th of April.” Barbatos is the first to answer. I nod and pick out the correct column, absently wondering how the Devildom has the same day-week-month system as the human world when they most likely didn’t have the same historical figures around to establish it.

“It says here that I have Curse-Breaking first,” I announce, then look up. “So, um… where is that?”

“I’ve put together a map for you to be able to navigate more easily,” Lucifer tells me, indicating one of the sheets at the bottom of the small pile. “The R.A.D. is a large building, but I’m sure you’ll get used to it after a while.”

_ Large is an understatement,  _ I comment mentally as I unfold and inspect the map he’s pointed out. It’s the size of an A3 sheet of paper and double-sided to boot, with almost every square inch occupied by neat black lines. Is Lucifer a printer? Is that what he is? Because there is no way anyone could draw out something like this by hand. 

Then again, Lucifer does give me the impression of someone who could do anything you ask them to out of sheer willpower… he’s even marked out each of the rooms where my classes are in some lovely red cursive. I turn the map around slightly, trying to find the one labelled Curse-Breaking, but none of the rooms on this side of the sheet seem to correspond to the subject I’m looking for.

“Ah, you’re on the first floor,” Diavolo tells me, leaning over to look at the map over my shoulder. “All of the subjects relating to magic and spells are on the ground floor… these two corridors right here.”

Sure enough, one of the rooms in the section that Diavolo is pointing out has been labelled ‘Curse-Breaking’. To be honest, though, despite this very detailed map, I still have no idea how I’m supposed to navigate the school using it; the classrooms don’t seem to have a set numbering system like they did at my school back home, and there isn’t a compass or anything to indicate which way I’d be facing at any point on it. I’m not even sure where on the map I am right now.

“Tell you what,” Diavolo says after a moment of thought, apparently taking pity on me as I get progressively more confused by the map by the minute. “I’ll show you to your classroom.”

“Oh— um, you don’t need to do that,” I reply quickly, shaking my head. “I’ll figure it out… one way or another.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” He laughs, slapping a hand to my shoulder for what has to at least be the third time now. Between him and Mammon, I’m pretty sure I’ll be as bruised as the last banana in a fruit bowl by the end of the week. “No worries! I’m free for the morning, so it won’t be a problem.”

“U-uh… are you sure?” I glance quickly at Lucifer and Barbatos for any disapproval, but the former’s face is still carefully composed and flat, while the latter is still just smiling, albeit more faintly now.

“Of course!” He chuckles. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t. Come along, follow me.”

He’s off walking before I can attempt to convince him not to - not out of any personal dislike, but more because I’m absolutely going to end up doing something stupid on the way there, and I don’t want a future monarch to see me carpet burn myself - so I can only offer a hurried goodbye to Lucifer and Barbatos and follow him before he disappears down the corridor. 

“That room we were just in is the main junction between all the R.A.D.’s staircases,” Diavolo tells me conversationally as we walk. He points down at the map that I’m still holding in front of my face and attempting to make sense of. “It’s that big room right in the middle - there, see? And that’s the entrance hall just coming off the front of it… I wonder why Lucifer didn’t mark those in?”

“I guess he didn’t really think it’d be necessary,” I mumble, turning the map around. Even if I know which room I’ve just come from, I still don’t know which direction I’m facing. Still, I should be able to use it once I actually get to a classroom, since the doors have also all been marked out with thin little rectangles, so all I’ll have to do is turn the map around to face the right direction accordingly.  _ Man, how much time does Lucifer have on his hands?  _ “Hey, uh, Mr Diavolo? Do you have a spare pen I could borrow?”

“Probably,” He answers, patting down his pockets for a moment before brightening and reaching into his left one. “Yep, here we go! You can keep it if you like. Lucifer mentioned earlier that you’d need some studying equipment.”

“Thank you, sir.” I fiddle about with the pen he passes me for a moment before figuring out the mechanism that gets the nib to come out. Unlike human world pens, there isn’t a button to press, nor does the tip twist; instead, shaking the pen vigorously up and down seems to be the thing that does the trick. It takes me a while to figure out how to do it while walking, but eventually I manage to balance the map against the rest of the papers in my left hand for long enough to carefully scribble the words ‘entrance hall’ and ‘stairway junction’ in the appropriate rooms. My penmanship is nowhere near as neat as Lucifer’s, but it’s the best I can do.

“Your writing is tiny,” Diavolo comments. I nearly drop the papers and pen - I didn’t think he’d be looking at what I’m doing over my shoulder, and hearing the Demon Lord’s rumbling voice with no warning is a lot more startling than he probably thinks it is.

“Well, uh, you know,” I cough and offer an awkward laugh. “I have… smaller hands than you. So…”

He nods rapidly, eyes widening as if this hadn’t occurred to him at all. “Of course! That makes sense.”

We both go quiet again as he turns away and stands up straight again. I’m finding that it’s kind of hard to keep up a conversation with any of these demons for a particularly sustainable amount of time, but at least we’ve talked - kind of. Diavolo doesn’t seem affected or subdued by the silence, in any case - he’s started humming happily to himself and is not-so-subtly shimmying his hands about, as he’s going to suddenly break into a dance routine like Peter Parker in Spiderman 3.  _ This demon truly has no fear.  _

By the time we’ve reached the corridor that my first class is supposedly on, I’ve finally managed to figure out how the map corresponds to the corridors we’re walking through. I don’t actually know if I’m allowed to be doing so, but I’ve also been carefully jotting down little notes here and there to make it easier to navigate the map in future as well. Diavolo didn’t say anything when he watched me do it earlier, though, and he’s not saying anything about it now, either, so it’s probably fine. Still, maybe I should have asked Lucifer first? He is the one who made the map in the first place, after all. 

_...I’ll ask him about it later.  _ Even if he does get mad, at least I can say I asked in the end, right? 

(If I’m being honest, though, I’m probably a bit too terrified of him to actually do that. Maybe I’ll try asking one of the other brothers to bring it up with him instead? No… Mammon would most likely just say no seeing as he’s obviously terrified of him, no matter how much he denies it, I haven’t really talked to Leviathan enough to be able to ask him for a favour, and I’m a little apprehensive on Asmodeus considering that little blip earlier… which leaves Beelzebub and Satan. Beelzebub might agree since I gave him a croissant yesterday, but at the same time, I don’t want to hold that over his head as if he owes me something for it. And Satan… well, somehow I get the feeling that he’d prefer not to talk to Lucifer if he can.)

(...now that I think about it, there’s something off about those brothers. Didn’t Lucifer say there were seven of them? Why do I only remember six? Have I just not met the seventh one yet?)

“Here we are,” Diavolo declares, patting the wall beside the classroom door as if it’s an old friend of his. “I believe the exchange students from the Celestial Realm have this class with you, so you won’t be completely alone.”

“Just them?” I ask, folding the map up again and carefully pushing it into my pocket, along with the various other papers. “What about the other human exchange student?”

“He’s already a powerful sorcerer with extensive knowledge, so all of the beginner magic classes we’re having you take would just be wasted on him,” Diavolo explains, “You do have some other classes with him, though, so you should be meeting him soon enough.”

“OK, got it.” I consider his words for a moment, then realise something. “Hey, um, about the magic classes - what am I supposed to do in them?”

“That’s a good question, actually…” He thinks for a while - so long that I’d have thought he’d have somehow fallen asleep on the spot if not for the look on his face. I can practically see the cogs turning in his head as he tries to come up with an answer as to how a human without any magical ability is supposed to take a class involving extensive use of magic.

Eventually, though, he seems to decide that he can’t be bothered to deliberate over it for any longer, and simply says, “Well, I’ll leave it up to your teacher. I’m sure that the theory would be useful, either way, right?”

_ I mean, it probably wouldn’t be if I can’t actually use the theory to do anything… _ I decide not to rain on his parade, partially because I feel like Lucifer might actually murder me if I somehow upset his boss and partially because I’d actually quite like to learn about magic. It's like all of my maladaptive daydreaming from back when Harry Potter was the only thing I cared about has come true… the me from two years ago would be positively thrilled in this situation. Actually, if I’m honest, I’m still kind of thrilled now, but who wouldn't be in my situation?

“Actually,” Diavolo begins, interrupting my train of thought, “Before I go, is there anything else you’ll need? I've already made arrangements with Barbatos and Lucifer to get you some writing supplies and the textbooks you’ll need for your courses, and all other equipment will be provided by your classes anyway.”

“Uh…” I think back to the conversation I had with Mammon earlier. “...would it be alright if I asked for a backpack? Just to carry things around in.”

“Is that all?” He asks, pulling another pen out of his pocket and raising his left hand, then quickly scribbling the words ‘backpack 4 human’ on it. Does text speak exist down here as well? I’m learning more by the minute.

“I think so.” 

“Excellent! Well, then—” He pulls out his D.D.D. briefly to check the time. “You still have fifteen minutes or so before your class starts, but you can go ahead into the classroom now. Early start and all, eh?”

“Sure…” I trail off as he immediately swings the door upon, peeks inside the classroom, and gestures for me to enter. “So, um… see you later, I guess?”

“See you later, indeed,” He responds cheerfully as I hesitantly shuffle inside, raising a hand and waving an enthusiastic goodbye. “And, by the way - do feel free to text me if you have any questions or want to chat.”

I nod and wave back up to him, then carefully nudge the door shut as Diavolo turns and walks back the way we came. Luckily for my nerves, the classroom is mostly empty when I turn around to take it in, with the few demons inside simply glancing at me and then going back to their own business. I take it that anyone who comes in this early would be someone pretty focused on their studies, so they wouldn’t be particularly distracted by some insignificant human walking in. 

The exception is the two students sitting at the back of the classroom, both standing out quite starkly against the general dark ambience of the room in their fully white outfits. It doesn’t take much to guess that they must be the two angel exchange students, especially considering that the taller one with black hair and a splendid cloak of some kind has now begun waving enthusiastically at me, apparently wanting me to sit with them on their bench.

I don’t really have many options, and considering that he's the only remotely friendly face in the room (one or two of the demons have now begun eyeing me up like a cupcake that’s been left out on a table), I decide to follow the nice angel’s gestures. Ducking my head so that I don’t somehow catch a demon’s eye and offend them or something, I hurry to the back of the classroom and hesitantly sit down on the very end of the bench, ready to jump off and move at any notice.

“Good morning!” The angel who had waved at me greets me warmly, offering a gloved hand. “You must be IK, yes? I’m Simeon.”

“Lovely to meet you, Mr Simeon,” I reply, carefully setting my hand in his and giving it a careful shake. Whatever material his gloves are made from, it’s  _ really  _ soft.

“Just Simeon is fine,” He twinkles, then gestures to the other angel sitting beside him, beside the window. “This is Luke.”

Luke leans over the table slightly to look around Simeon’s shoulder, and I do the same. He’s much smaller than his companion - in fact, he might actually be around my height, though I can’t tell precisely with that giant hat on his head - with pale blonde hair and large blue eyes that make him look uncannily like a baby goat. (If I’m honest, I’m don’t actually know what a baby goat looks like. Luke just reminds me of the concept, I guess. It’s probably the light blond hair and the white clothes.)

“It’s great to meet you as well, Mr Luke,” I say, sticking my hand out. It feels a little odd addressing him by ‘Mr’ when he doesn’t look any older than me, but I don’t want to make him feel disrespected or something by addressing him differently to his friend.

He nods earnestly, reaching across the table to grasp my hand and give it a vigorous shake. “Likewise!”

“He can be rather short-tempered sometimes,” Simeon says to me in an undertone as I release Luke’s hand and sit back again. “But he does have a good heart.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” The angel in question immediately protests, his cheeks flushing slightly. Simeon laughs and murmurs a quick apology in reply, but that doesn’t seem to be enough for Luke; he turns back to me and points a firm finger in my direction.

“Don’t listen to him!” He insists, scrunching his face up in a frown when Simeon laughs again. “He likes to make fun of me just because I'm lower-ranking than him, but don’t be mistaken! I report directly to Michael the Archangel!”

“Alright, calm down now, Luke,” Simeon intervenes before he can get even more riled up, apparently having finished his little chuckle fest. “You don’t need to get into such a fuss over these things.”

He turns to me and elaborates, his smile returning to his face, “Incidentally, Michael is one of the higher-ranking angels back in the Celestial Realm. Luke admires him greatly.”

I nod quickly.  _ I thought Michael was one of the Four Gospels? No, wait, that’s Matthew, Mark, John, and… oh, hey, Luke! Now that’s a coincidence. Well, probably not, if they’re both from a place called the Celestial Realm, which I’m guessing would be Heaven if the Devildom is Hell… does that mean Simeon and Luke know God? I wonder if I could ask them to deliver a declaration of war for me… no, that’s a bad idea. A really bad idea. _

“Michael’s in charge of the Department of Light up in the Celestial Realm, and he's in charge of all the fledgling angels joining the group,” Luke tells me proudly. “Simeon and I both work under him.”

“I mostly just help him with affairs and orders - you know, paperwork and communications,” Simeon adds, “But my angelic speciality is actually healing.”

“You can do that?” 

“All angels have a natural healing aura,” Luke chimes in. “Healer angels like Simeon learn to concentrate and deploy directly it the afflicted areas. He's  _ really _ good at it.”

“So is healing a tangible thing?” I ask. “How does it work? Does it just naturally accelerate the healing process? Or does it wind back time on the area? Or with wounds and stuff, does it use atoms from the air or something to fill in the gap?”

Simeon and Luke both look bewildered by my questions - as if they’d never even considered how this apparently works. 

“The… first one?” answers Simeon, though he doesn’t sound particularly sure about it. “I’m not really an expert in the theory of it. You’d have to ask Barbara about that.”

“Barbara’s the leader of all the healing angels,” Luke adds. “She’s super young compared to most of the other leaders, but her healing skills are totally unparalleled!”

“Luke and Barbara were made from the same star cluster,” Simeon explains to me. “Which means that they’re essentially siblings, even though they’re a century or two apart in age.”

I nod again and make a sound to indicate that I understand. I’m a little distracted by the fact that Luke, who looks like he’s ready to sit his 11+ exams any day now, is apparently at  _ least  _ one hundred years old - most likely much more. How do you even live that long? Don’t you just run out of things to do?

“There’s the teacher!” Luke suddenly exclaims, breaking my train of thought. I look up - and barely manage to stop my jaw from dropping.

In crude words, my Curse Breaking teacher is an absolute  _ unit _ . I thought Diavolo and Beelzebub were tall, but this demon is at least ten whole feet of pure muscle, with shoulders the size of cheese wheels and thighs like tree trunks. Putting it simply, he looks like he was taken straight out of an episode of Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure from back when all the men looked like they ate nothing but protein shakes, falcon eggs and rocks. (Though, if I’m honest, they kind of still do.)

“I see that our exchange students have arrived bright and early,” Beefman announces once he’s situated himself at the teacher’s desk at the front, somehow just barely managing to squash his enormous frame on the objectively far too small chair behind it. “Good to see. None of you have your books yet, I presume.”

Luke and I exchange apprehensive looks behind Simeon’s back as he shakes his head and answers for all three of us, his voice ringing through the classroom like a clear bell. “No, we haven’t. Lord Diavolo said that they should be ready tomorrow.”

Beefman nods thoughtfully and reaches into the pocket of his enormous black greatcoat. “That’s alright, then. We won’t be needing them today, anyway.”

I have to bite down  _ hard  _ on my bottom lip to stop myself from snorting as Beefman pulls out a pair of ridiculously tiny spectacles and somehow manages to wedge them onto his face. Luke looks as if he wants to laugh as well, but is refusing to do so out of fear of the giant demon on the other side of the room.

“My name…” Beefman begins, heaving himself back out of his seat and digging one large hand into his jacket to pull out a piece of chalk, “...is Kazakiel.”

He writes it across the top of the blackboard in almost perfect block capitals - if I hadn’t watched him write it freehand, I’d have thought he’d used a ruler. He places the chalk down on his desk with a distinctive  _ clack  _ and continues, “But you can just call me Professor Kaz.”

Simeon, Luke, and I all murmur our assent, and Professor Kaz gives us a large grin in response. “You three seem like a nice bunch, so I’ll keep this short. As long as you listen and do as you’re told in my lessons, we won’t have any problems. I’m not nearly as bothered about homework as Professor Astiel down the corridor, but I’d prefer you hand it in on time. I won’t set you anything ridiculously long either, but I do expect you put at least a little effort into it.”

He adjusts his glasses slightly, and his gaze suddenly falls on me. “Now, I’m told that our second human exchange student here doesn’t have any magic. Is that right, young lady?”

I attempt to make eye contact as I’ve always been told is polite, but I end up feeling too awkward about it and instead choose to focus my gaze on the glinting bridge of Professor Kaz’s glasses. He shouldn’t be able to tell the difference from this distance anyway, right? “U-uh… yes, sir.”

“So polite!” He laughs, reminding me uncannily of Diavolo. “Well, little miss, you don’t need to worry. You don’t need any inherent magic ability to do any of the things covered in the first year courses that you'll be taking - that includes your other classes, not just mine. And, of course, you’ll only be here for one year, so there shouldn’t be any problems there.”

I nod, but before I can formulate a response, he continues, “Now, subjects involving casting and breaking spells - like mine, for example - are going to be substantially harder for you, I won’t lie about that. If your other teachers have any demonic decency, though, they’ll be willing to give you some extra time on deadlines or extra help in classes, so you don’t need to fret about that, either!”

The Devildom’s education system is really proving itself to be far better than the one back home more and more with each minute. I nod gratefully. “Thank you.”

“No worries!” He chuckles. “All in a day’s work. Now, the rest of the class should be trickling in now, so why don’t you three get yourselves ready? There should some spare paper at the back, in the bottom cabinet. You can make your notes on those until you get all your exercise books - just use the quills and ink wells on your tables.”

“I’ll get them,” Simeon volunteers, already beginning to get up. “You two just stay put.”

He seems to have a little difficulty getting out from the bench, though. Now that I think about it, it can’t be very efficient to wear such a big cloak all the time, especially considering the fact that it looks pretty heavy. Simeon doesn’t immediately strike me as the kind of guy who’d be willing to suffer for the sake of fashion, but to be fair, it is a  _ very  _ snazzy cloak.

“...do you need some help with that?” I ask hesitantly as he tugs fruitlessly at it. It appears to be refusing to be pulled over the edge of the bench. 

“If you don’t mind,” He replies a little sheepishly. I nod and duck under the table to pick it up by the hem, only to nearly collapse face first onto the side of the bench as soon as I lift it a centimetre of the ground.

“My goodness!” Simeon’s gloved hand quickly shoots under the table to steady me, though he misses my shoulder by a good few inches. “Steady, now.”

Luke dips his head down to look at me through the gap between the bench and the table, eyes wide with alarm. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I reply, steadying myself. “Why’s your cloak so  _ heavy?  _ How do you walk around in that?” 

“I suppose I’m just used to it…” He watches worriedly as I scramble to attempt to lift the end of the cloak again. He has to twist himself around slightly, seeing as his cloak is still anchoring him pretty firmly. “Ah, maybe you should just leave it to me?”

“No, I’ve got it!” I brace myself stubbornly and carefully slip my arms under the hem. My feet nearly slip out from underneath me as I push the cloak upwards, but I manage to hold steady for long enough to shove it over the top of the bench.

Simeon shivers slightly as the end of the cloak slithers across the wood and finally slips down to hang properly from his shoulders. I raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” He waves off my concern easily as I start clambering out from beneath the table. “The weight of this cloak is meant to replicate the weight of my wings, you see. It’s crafted in a way that imitates the presence of them as well, which means I can feel things touching it.”

“Is that why it’s so heavy?” 

“Correct,” He says with a smile. “Though my cloak isn’t nearly has heavy as some others. Michael’s is so heavy that most angels would collapse under its weight.”

“Huh.” I situate myself back on the bench as Simeon moves over to the drawers to look for the paper Professor Kaz mentioned, then turn to Luke, “Do you have a cloak as well, Luke?”

He jumps slightly at the question. “Oh! Well, um, I’m still really low-ranking, so my wings are a lot smaller than Simeon’s…”

He gestures up at the little capelet thing around his shoulders that I hadn’t really noticed earlier. “This is it.”

I lean back slightly to look at the two long blue strips of fabric (I don’t know what they’re called, so sue me) trailing from behind the capelet. “Are those part of it as well?”

Luke nods. “They’re the main part, actually. My wings might be small, but they’re still heavy, so they made my cloak like this to distribute the weight evenly.”

“That’s smart,” I note, thanking Simeon as he comes back to the table and sets about five sheets of yellowing parchment-like paper in front of me. “Can you just make your wings, like, disappear when you don’t need them?”

“That’s essentially it, yes,” Simeon is the one to answer this time. “It’s similar to demons and their demon forms, actually. We have this form, where none of the extra appendages get in the way, then a form where our wings are present, but mostly only aesthetically, and then our true form, when our wings manifest fully.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“It isn’t  _ that  _ bad,” Luke comments. “Too bad we can’t show you our wings, though. We’re not supposed to open them while we’re here unless it’s for an emergency.”

“Why not?”

He pulls a face. “Why do you think? We’re in the Devildom! It’s full of evil and darkness and  _ demons!” _

“What Luke means is that the energy down here could potentially corrupt our wings,” Simeon steps in. “Normally it isn’t a problem for envoys and ambassadors, so they’re permitted to display their wings during jobs, but since we’ll be down here for an extended period of time, it’d be wiser to keep them away where possible.”

“The Celestial Realm and the Devildom have naturally counteracting energies,” Luke adds, sounding once again like he’s reading this word for word. I wonder if he’s memorised these facts just for moments like this? “The positive energy of the Celestial Realm can cast away the Devildom’s negative energy really quickly, but when they’re left together for too long, the negative energy ends up building up and consuming the positive.”

“Which is why we’re keeping our wings away,” Simeon continues, “We wouldn’t want the negative energy to eat them up.”

It takes me a moment to process the information that’s just been given to me. I’ve noticed that that’s another running theme so far - getting info-dumped on. It’s like one of the first episodes of a TV series where it’s just a bunch of world-building exposition to introduce the audience to the show’s universe.

Unfortunately, I don’t get to continue my rather pleasant conversation with the two angels for much longer, as class officially starts not long after Simeon and Luke’s little explanation. I’d been too absorbed in our exchange to notice that the classroom had rapidly begun filling with students while we were talking; now that I actually look at my surroundings again, I notice that nearly all of the benches are now full.

The lesson itself is interesting enough. Professor Kaz spouts a bunch of technical magic terms that I understand none of - though I manage to scribble most of the definitions down for future reference with the help of Simeon’s hushed whispering every time he notices my confusion - and describes some techniques that we’ll be covering in the coming weeks. What with the parchment-like appearance of the paper and the literal quills and inkwells we’re using to write  _ and _ the subject matter, the whole Harry Potter vibe of this school is just getting stronger and stronger. Not that I’m complaining about it, of course.

Unfortunately, I don’t end up being able to attend lesson two, courtesy of Diavolo stepping in and whisking me off just as I’m leaving lesson one to fill out some paperwork and whatnot concerning my extended stay in the Devildom. He also gives me a freshly-purchased black backpack with enough pockets and compartments to store every single material item I own (which, to be fair, isn’t really that much), and shows me each and every one with great glee.

“The rest of your school supplies should arrive by the end of the day,” He says as I happily pull the backpack onto my shoulders. It’s actually suitably sized for me, which is an added bonus. “I’ll drop them off at the House of Lamentation once they’re ready.”

Diavolo sends me off just as break begins, which I spend being helplessly buffetted back and forth across the corridors by an endless stream of demon students until Simeon miraculously swoops in to save me. Just in time for the beginning of lesson three, too, which turns out to be a free study period for both me and the two angels.

“It’s a shame you missed your second lesson,” Simeon says as the three of us settle at a table in the corner of the school library. “You would have had Devildom Law, am I right?”

I pull my slightly crumpled schedule out of my pocket. “...yup. How’d you know?”

“You have it with Solomon,” He explains. “The other human exchange student. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to meet him now - you don’t have any other lessons with him today.” 

“Can’t we just meet with him at lunch?” Luke asks. “He should be free then, right?”

“Unfortunately not,” Simeon sighs. “He has a meeting with some of the teachers, I’m told.”

“Isn’t this Mr Solomon a really powerful sorcerer?” I ask, flicking restlessly through a book that is written in a language that I don’t understand a word of. “Why would he need to take lessons?”

Simeon thinks about it for a moment. “Well, strictly speaking, he wouldn’t. But, um… there are always nuances to magic depending on the species and nature of the person performing it, so I imagine there’s an endless fount of knowledge to be found from that...”

It sounds like he’s making things up as he goes, to be honest, but he says it with such confidence that I can’t help but think that he must be right. 

The remaining hour or so of my free study period is spent making idle chit-chat with the two angels. Half an hour or so in, I spot Satan milling about the non-fiction section, but he takes one look at me and hurriedly hides his face behind the leather-bound book in his hands, as if he thinks I wouldn’t be able to see him if he can’t see me, never mind the fact that we just made direct eye-contact. 

I raise an eyebrow at the large dragon emblazoned across his book’s cover, then realise that it’s probably something to do with what happened this morning - the cyanide-throwing and all that. I severely doubt he’s feeling guilty about it at all, but maybe he’s embarrassed? Well, either way, I’m not going to force interaction on someone who clearly doesn't want it. That’s just basic courtesy,

After that comes lunch, during which I suddenly realise that I haven’t eaten or drunk a thing since coming down here, and that I should probably have some water before I die of dehydration. Simeon is kind enough to get me a bottle from one of the cafeteria’s vending machines (which look  _ very  _ strange in an otherwise very old-fashioned-looking room), which he sets in front of me with a smile.

“It isn’t poison, right?” I ask nervously, remembering, once again, the cyanide incident. I don’t want to accidentally drink a bottle of arsenic or something. 

“Of course not,” He chuckles, spinning the bottle around so that I can read the label on the front. “See? Just plain old mineral water. You’ll be fine.”

I don’t know  _ why  _ the presence of regular water in the Devildom is such a strange concept - after all, didn’t I just use water this morning to wash my face? - but it just  _ is.  _ I guess I never thought about it while reading all those escapism-filled fantasy stories, but now that I’m actually  _ in  _ another world, it strikes me as strange that so many of its elements are so similar to the human world despite having none of the same historical influences. Water is easy enough to come to terms with, but the fact that they have a whole education system so similar to the one back home (along with all the same concepts of homework, uniforms, and student-teacher dynamics) is a lot more coincidental.

Well, I probably shouldn’t think too deeply into it. Still, it’s good to know that there are things down here that I can drink without dying a painful, organ-shrivelling death.

Food is another thing, though. There’s a menu for the meals provided by the school kitchen, which I manage to dig out from among the various documents Diavolo gave me earlier, but, try as I might, I can’t really bring myself to want to try any of the dishes listed on it.

Neither Luke nor Simeon seem interested in trying any of the R.A.D. cafeteria’s food either, since they both opt to pull out what look like lunchboxes. I don’t know  _ where  _ Simeon was hiding his - Luke’s clothes are baggy enough that they could reasonably have several pockets to put his in, but Simeon’s outfit is so skin-tight that I doubt he could even put a credit card in his pants without it creating an obvious rectangle on the side of his legs. His cloak doesn't look like it has any pockets, either…

Simeon notices me looking at him in confusion, but mistakes the reason for something else. “Oh, are you hungry? I wouldn’t mind sharing some of my lunch if you don’t want to try the cafeteria food.”

I shake my head quickly. “No, no, it’s fine. I was just wondering - where were you keeping that?”

He looks mildly puzzled for a moment, then looks down at himself and realises what I’m talking about. “Oh, the lunchbox, you mean? It’s just a simple containment spell, really. See this here?”

He points down at a little golden charm on his chest. It glitters slightly as he gently taps at it, as if the sun is shining directly on it, even though the cafeteria is only lit by ominously flickering candles. “It's rather complicated to explain, but, put it like this - it’s like a concentration point.”

“So the lunchbox was in there?” I pull a face. Magic I can get behind, but shoving an entire lunchbox into  _ that  _ tiny little thing is a little hard to believe. Then again, I’m sitting in a cafeteria in a school in Hell. Lunchboxes in charms should be the least of my concerns right now.

Simeon frowns. “I’m not too sure how it works myself. I’ve been using it for so long that I just don’t really think about it.”

“Is it like your wing-cloaks?” I look at Luke. “Do you have one as well?”

He nods and points up at the charm dangling from his hat. “Right here!”

It’s rather larger than Simeon’s, I note. Is that just for aesthetic reasons, or is it something similar to the cloak weights? Maybe Luke’s needs to be larger because he’s lower-ranking and less powerful. It makes sense from a logical standpoint. 

The rest of lunch passes by uneventfully, and then it’s time for the last two classes of the day. It seems that I share most of my lessons with the angels, since we end up all having Foundation Potions and Enchantments Level One for our fourth and fifth lessons. Potions is easy enough - thankfully our teacher, an affable demon with wild green hair who seems to have their goggles permanently glued to their face, is nothing like Snape, and stays unrelentingly patient with me and the two angels as we struggle to keep up with the other students, who’ve already been studying the subject for several terms before we arrived. 

Simeon seems to master the process relatively easily, while Luke and I constantly get ingredients and stirring directions all messed up for the first half hour, creating several explosions that somehow don’t get our clothes covered in soot. Professor Baal, however, just laughs slightly maniacally and tells us to try again.

It isn’t until I think of likening the step-by-step process of brewing a potion to cooking and baking that I finally get the hang of it. It’s just like following the recipe for a cake - measure out the ingredients, combine in the right order, and mix carefully. In fact, I’d probably say it’s easier than making a cake - it’s more like making a stew, the kind that I make by throwing together left-over meat and veg in a pan with some hot water and chicken broth. 

Luke doesn’t take much longer to grasp the process, either; apparently my baking metaphor works wonders for him as well. After that, the rest of the Potions lesson is easy enough - enjoyable, even, which is much more than I can say for nearly all of my lessons back home.

Enchantments is a nightmare in comparison. The teacher, one Professor Ala, seems nice enough at first, but it becomes apparent ten minutes in that she’s just like one of those patronising ‘young’ teachers who think they know your struggles better than you do and don’t take mental health as a valid excuse for not doing homework on time. She has none of the patience that Professor Baal did, but she does at least seem to be trying to give me a little leeway as I struggle to enchant even the tiniest coin. 

“Focus your mind,” She says exasperatedly as my hands start trembling slightly. Holding your arms out at a ninety degree angle for nearly fifteen minutes straight really does a number on your muscles, especially if they’re kind of puny to begin with. “Even beings without inherent magic should be able to do something as simple as this.”

Luke sends me a sympathetic look from behind her as I disguise a long sigh behind a subtle cough and ready my hands to try again. The two angels, predictably, don’t seem to be having much trouble with the colour-changing enchantment we’re being taught today, which means that Professor Ala’s attention is focused solely on me.  _ Joy. _

I have to try  _ hard _ to hold back embarrassed tears for what feels like the entire rest of the lesson, and I haven’t even managed to change even a single spot of the penny’s copper-brown colour by the time it ends. Luckily I’m well-versed with the act of disguising the fact that I’m on the verge of tears after years of being an absolute crybaby any time a teacher raises their voice even marginally at me (now that I think about it, that’s kind of sad), so neither Simeon nor Luke notice me rubbing subtly at my eyes as we leave the classroom and begin to make our way out of the school.

Simeon suggests we go for a walk into town together as we step out into the cold afternoon air, Luke quickly reminds him that we still have all those textbooks and stuff to receive some time this evening, so, after agreeing to hang out outside of school another time, we split up to head to our respective living quarters at a fork in the road.

Luke does express some worry about the fact that I’ll be walking back to the House of Lamentation on my own before he leaves, but I assure him that I’ll be fine and quickly set off at a brisk walk, holding tight onto my backpack straps and glancing back and forth apprehensively as I go. I don’t have any keys to tuck between my fingers - my house keys are still in my old school blazer, which is still sitting back in that room from earlier as far as I know - and nothing in my backpack or pockets can really be used as a weapon, but to be honest, I probably wouldn’t be able to beat a demon even if I had one. How would one even go about killing a demon? Stabbing them? Shooting them? Are a guns even a thing down here? 

Somehow I manage to remember the way back to the House of Lamentation - which isn’t much of an achievement, considering the path from it to the R.A.D. is pretty much just one long road - and the front door is already unlocked when I get to it, which means I don’t have to wait awkwardly on the doorstep or call one of the brothers to open it up for me. I hover at the welcome mat for a moment, wondering if I should take off my shoes like I normally do at home, but decide against it. I don’t have any slippers and I’m still wearing my tights, and I don’t want my feet to get cold.

I wander aimlessly through the House’s corridors for five minutes or so, partially because I’m still a little unsure of how exactly to get to my room and partially to explore a little. There’s always been an odd sense of excitement for me when it comes to staying in a new abode - I remember going on camps when I was in primary school, and the first thing I did whenever we got there was explore the cabin we’d be staying in. It’s been the same story for the few hotel rooms I’ve stayed in with Dad - no matter how small the room is, I can’t rest until I’ve explored every inch of it, including the drawers and wardrobes. 

The House of Lamentation is a different matter entirely, though - first of all, its so  _ big  _ that I’m pretty sure it’d take me hours to explore the whole thing, and second, it’s not really mine to explore so closely like that. It already has seven permanent residents, after all (though I have yet to meet the seventh one), and I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t appreciate me snooping around all of the rooms. I’ll just stick to familiarising myself with the hallways for now.

I realise at some point that I had a look around the first floor yet, so I find the nearest staircase and climb up with some difficulty. It looks pretty much the same as the ground floor, as far as I can tell, just with even more fancy decorations. There are stained glass windows placed seemingly at random here and there - there are a few that have been installed directly on the wall, for some reason - as well as what appear to be literal trees just growing out of the carpet. 

I’m just inspecting one of these trees with fascination, wondering whether the purple and gold leaves are artificial or not, when I suddenly hear a flurry of footsteps approach from behind me. Before I even have time to turn around or make a getaway, two large hands clamp around my upper arms and drag me backwards.

I'm being pulled so quickly that I can’t even muster up the air to shout in alarm. The hands have yanked me upwards so that my feet are hovering off the ground, and the only thing I think of to do to struggle is to kick at the air and hope that it knocks my captor off balance.

Unfortunately that doesn’t work at all, and next thing I know, I’m being yanked into a room. The door slams shut behind me as my captor finally releases me, and I land awkwardly on the floor with an ungraceful ‘oof!’.

“Listen up!” orders the mystery assailant. “You’re going to be helping me whether you like it or not!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> obey me doesn’t have much by way of worldbuilding in terms of the magic rules and celestial realm (at least not at the time of writing - that might have changed by the time you read this), so i basically made everything up because i thought it’d be cool 
> 
> (also, a [...] in text conversations just indicates that the character was typing for while or that there was a delay before the message was sent, not that they literally texted ‘[...]’)

**Author's Note:**

> updates will likely be slow since all of the chapters planned are pretty long! originally i wanted to wait until i had at least half of the chapters per written to publish this so that i could have some kind of schedule but then my partner decided to post his own fic and he's not allowed to one up me like that so i decidedly to publish this prematurely lmao
> 
> by the way i do have a tumblr - same @ as my username here! this fic isn't romantic (the main character is like fifteen) but i do write both romantic and platonic reader insert content for obey me (as well as genshin impact) there if you're interested!
> 
> love you, darlings!! thank you for reading ^^


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